


Low Lights

by OldTsuki



Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: Betty Cooper Loves Jughead Jones, F/M, Music AU, Rockstar AU, Stalking, The Archies are a band, Tour Bus, famous!Betty AU, protective jughead
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-29
Updated: 2018-06-20
Packaged: 2019-04-29 17:01:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 74,254
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14477229
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OldTsuki/pseuds/OldTsuki
Summary: Betty, Archie, and Veronica signed with a recording studio shortly after graduation and it feels like they've been on tour ever since. Even though she's famous, Betty is still struggling to break away from her mother's controlling presence--and unfortunately, their manager agrees with most of what Alice has to say. Night after night, she's been taking notice of the mysterious bouncer that was hired as security for the band on their second tour. As Betty's life becomes more and more complicated, is it possible that he's the one person she can rely on?





	1. The Archies

**Author's Note:**

> This will switch back and forth between Betty and Jughead’s perspective, I hope that’s not too confusing. Thank you for reading, this is a little AU I’ve been considering for a while now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is an idea I've had brewing for a few weeks now. Thank you for reading, leaving kudos, or commenting! It really does mean a lot.

————

In the theater, bodies were pressed shoulder to shoulder as the crowd hushed at the dimming of the house lights. Golden carved ornaments glittered in the dull glow of the stage lights, remnants of a more formal time gone by—when the theater had been an opera house, when the boxes had been lined with red velvet seats, when people had dressed in suits and gowns to attend. Now, semi-drunken teens were hardly clad in denim and jersey as their liner-ringed eyes were riveted to the stage, watching for the first sign of the band emerging from the wings. Hands gripped cell phones throughout the room, fingers poised over red ‘record’ buttons, batteries charged in anticipation of the show. 

Jughead imagined himself as a wall between the crowd and the stage, closing his eyes for a moment before the band inevitably assumed their positions. When he’d been running with his father’s gang, he’d faced his fair share of street brawls. Bouncing for a headliner like The Archies was a different gig entirely—he had to give himself a moment to mentally prepare for the multitasking that would soon be required. The plastic barriers provided him only two feet of space between the stage and the crowd, forming a sort of literal trench. For the next few hours, that space would be his kingdom. As he slowly exhaled and opened his eyes, he reached up and adjusted the crown-fringed beanie on top of his head.

The roar of the crowd began as a dull rumble and built into a deafening shriek. Without glancing back, he knew that Archie had finally showed his ginger-topped form, guitar slung casually over his shoulder. Next would come the click of Veronica’s impossibly tall heels, drowned out by the adoring wailing of her fans. Betty would trail behind, her ballet flats slipping soundlessly over the stage as her iconic ponytail swung like a pendulum while she assumed her position. The presence of the trifecta would herald the beginning of his battle as the fans surged forward. His eyes swept the barrier to take quick stock of the faces along its edge and he took a moment to commit each countenance to memory. It would matter later once the pit was truly in motion, so that he could ensure that no one was being trampled on the front lines. 

Almost eighteen inches from his right ear, an overzealous fan roared, “BETTY, I LOVE YOU!” at the top of his lungs. He couldn’t help glancing back as he raised a hand to massage his eardrum, pushing his foam earplug more snugly in place. Betty smiled brightly in their direction, her eyes settling on Jughead longer than she spent seeking out the fan. He glanced quickly back at the crowd, just in time to see the first of many who would try to fling themselves toward the stage. With a practiced motion, he caught the teen under the arms and pulled her over the barrier, signaling the waiting security guard to escort her out of the trench.

——————

On stage, Betty couldn’t help but chew her bottom lip as their bouncer turned away. He travelled in the second bus, along with the rest of their stage crew. She let her eyes linger on his shoulders for a moment, her eyes taking quick stock of the muscular form beneath the plain black t-shirt. For weeks now, Betty had been treated to a nightly show of those muscles in action. Breaking her from her thoughts at that moment, Archie stepped toward the mic. Betty focused her attention on the set list. Her fingers slid over the bass strings in anticipation of their task.

Their first song was one of the new ones, the single their manager had released shortly after the tour announcement. She couldn’t see much of the crowd through the stage lights but she had the impression of one undulating black mass that filled the venue. Betty could at least see the faces that were lit along the edge of the stage, their mouths moving in unison with the band as they surged up and down in time to the music. Another fan launched themselves forward, just to be intercepted by their bouncer. 

She glanced back at Trent, the drummer that their manager had hired shortly after signing them for their first album. He was older than his bandmates, having studied at Juilliard School of Music before dropping out to join them full time. He caught Betty looking at him and winked, giving her a crooked smile. 

Betty turned back to her microphone, her fingers sliding over the thick strings of the bass guitar as she counted in her head. There, she closed her eyes and added her backup lines to Archie’s verse. She always found it disorienting to look at the fans when she sang. They were often just slightly out of time.

They ground the song to a halt, but there was no moment of silence after their opening number. The fans screamed in unison. Archie looked over with a smile and stepped up to the mic again.

“Hello, Detroit!” he shouted, making the fans go wild. Giving them a moment to scream, he continued, “We’re The Archies, and we’re so grateful to be here with you tonight.”

Archie glanced over at Veronica, who raised her mouth to her mic and purred, “We’ll keep you warm in here since it’s freezing outside.” Betty watched two grown men throw themselves at the barrier, seeing the bouncer slide sideways to prevent them from grabbing at Veronica’s ankles. They settled back into the crowd, glaring at him as he crossed his arms over his chest.

Archie looked over at Betty, then, and she realized that it was her moment to say something witty. She’d been distracted by the way the bouncer’s bicep was rippling below his t-shirt. Quickly stepping forward, she dragged her eyes along the line of faces she could see and flashed a somewhat devious smile. “You all make sure you behave yourselves for us, and we’ll give you a show you’ll never forget,” she added, making her voice like velvet to match Veronica’s honeyed tone. 

The bouncer glanced back at her words, his eyes meeting hers for the briefest of moments. It was just long enough to send a shiver of something fluttery through her core, and Betty quickly looked down at the set list to regain her composure.

She focused on the music instead, her fingers working as she allowed her mind to sink into the blissful task of the performance. Their manager had insisted that she take up the vacant bass position, stating that the industry would never recognize a backup singer and tambourin girl as an equal band member to the front man/guitarist or the keyboard player. Betty was grateful, since it gave her something more to do than look at the crowd. She enjoyed playing the bass, though it was less technically difficult than Archie’s guitar pieces. Luckily their consultants wrote the lines for Betty’s part and her bass instructor coached her through memorizing them. She was a quick student, but definitely not a musical prodigy. 

As they wrapped piece two, Archie took a moment to share with the crowd that they’d been on the tour bus for two months now. He was a natural lead for the band, and the fans loved him. Betty still admired the way that her childhood friend could handle a crowd. She still had to meditate before every performance to fight back the butterflies of stage fright that threatened to overpower her. That anxiety was probably still thanks to her mother, who even now managed to insist that she speak with Betty’s stylist on a regular basis. While Veronica and Archie were able to provide their own input about how they’d look onstage, even hundreds of miles away Betty was still under her mother’s thumb.

The fans didn’t seem to mind the good-girl-next-door look, but Betty was sick of it. She longed to change her hair and wear something grown up for once, something dark and edgy like Veronica’s wardrobe. Somehow, even their manager disagreed with her. 

————

Jughead caught another girl as she was propelled forward, passing her off to security. The band was only on their third song, but the crowd was already more mobile than the one he’d dealt with the night before. He could feel sweat beading along his brow. Looking at the faces of those on the front line, he could see a few that were growing too pale. The crowd at the back of the room was surging forward, effectively crushing these fans against the barrier. Jughead leaned over and grabbed a bottle of water from the ground. He easily twisted off the cap and dropped it, moving along the line and pouring water into the mouths of a few kids who were looking too spent. He dropped the bottle when it was empty, surveying the line again.

As the song wrapped, Jughead glanced back at Betty. He couldn’t help it. Surprisingly, her green eyes locked momentarily again with his. He felt his heartbeat increase inexplicably. The moment lasted less than the time it took him to inhale, but he definitely wasn’t imagining it now. He’d been thinking it ever since the night before, when they were in Cincinnati. She was watching him.

Something sailed over his head at that moment, landing on the stage at Archie’s feet. Jughead glared out at the crowd, trying to pick out the pitcher if he could. One errant missile was harmless, but if the crowd got frenzied and stared throwing their cups, the band would have to leave the stage. 

Archie laughed into the microphone and said, “Keep your panties on, thanks,” letting Jughead know exactly what had managed to sail past his guard.

A stage hand rushed across with another guitar for the front man, taking a moment to sweep up the debris as they crossed by.

Part of the band’s publicity stunt was the relentless promotion of all three leading members as extremely single. Jughead had decided when he took his job that it was a small step up from prostitution, since more than half the room was undoubtably dreaming of a chance encounter backstage with either of the girls or Archie himself. Their manager, Harold Fry, insisted that all three band members refrain from sharing any personal pictures online or allowing themselves to be photographed with the same person of the opposite gender more than twice, with the exception of their bandmates. Personally knowing that sorry excuse for an adult male, Jughead suspected that it was a part of their contracts.

But hey, it was the twenty-first century, and sex was what sold almost everything. It wasn’t the first time that panties had ended up onstage. Probably it wouldn’t be the last.

Archie and Veronica took it in stride, but Jughead knew without looking that Betty was worrying her bottom lip again. He’d always privately thought that she was the odd one out of the group, with her wholesome necklines and her petal-pink palate. Oddly, that good-girl appearance was what endeared her the most to the fans. 

As the concert wore on, Jughead continued to remove crowd surfers and water the front lines. He saw a girl who couldn’t be more than sixteen begin to faint. Reaching over the plastic barrier, he lifted her up and signaled security. A paramedic slipped through the trench and took the girl from Jughead’s arms, disappearing with her into the wings of the theater.

————

Betty watched as the bouncer rescued one of their fans. He’d been with them a few months now, starting at the beginning of their tour. Their manager had hired him, though Betty knew very little about him beyond that. Since they travelled in different busses, she didn’t even know his name yet. His distinctive hat had caught her attention at first. After that, she’d noticed night after night how he’d taken such care of the kids in the crowd. He rarely let their fans get out of control, and they’d never had an incident where anyone made it to the stage. It wasn’t for lack of trying, though. The bouncer even stood guard outside their dressing rooms after every show, fending off over eager fans who managed to get past whatever security each venue had in place. 

They were reaching the end of the set list, now. She set her bass in the stand and picked up the tambourin from Trent’s riser. Returning to her mic, she lifted it out of the clip and waited for Archie’s cue. 

When they concluded that number, the fans roared with renewed energy. Archie swiped his arm across his forehead before he said, “Thank you, Detroit! Good night!”

They trooped off the stage, waiting in the wings while the crowd continued to cheer. The Archies always gave an encore, saving their best selling hit for last. From the side of the stage, Betty saw a few items fly out from the crowd. Crumpled paper, bits of clothing, and a few cups from what she could tell. A stage hand rushed over to clean up, setting out a new bass and picking up her old one.

Veronica turned to her with a bright smile. “Great night, huh, B?” she said breathlessly.

Betty couldn’t help but return the expression. “Yeah, they’re really high energy today,” she agreed.

Their intrepid leader ran his hands through his hair and pulled the collar of his shirt away from his chest, letting some air flow beneath. “Christ, it’s boiling in here,” he muttered. “Come on, that’s our cue,” Archie said, as a stage hand signaled to them.

The trio made their way back to their positions with Trent trailing a few steps behind. When they reappeared on stage, the crowd surged again. Betty saw their bouncer drag another fan over the barrier, his attention split as he pressed a bottle of water into their hands and prevented someone else from throwing a cup. A security guard led the teen away, freeing the bouncer to tell off the overexcited young man.

As the first notes of their hit filled the room, Betty lost herself in the music. They’d played this one thousands of times. It was almost a robotic process for her now. This was the song that had won Archie the contract and sealed their fates. Hundreds of people had covered it on Youtube, racking up thousands of views. Their official music video was approaching the 4 billion mark.

It was his breakup song for his first girlfriend, Betty knew. He’d written it in their Junior year of high school. The first time he’d performed it had been at the town founding celebration the following summer. The lyrics were profoundly personal, but only the people onstage and Archie’s ex girlfriend completely understood their meaning.

To most fans, it was just an uplifting pop song.

—————

Jughead thought of this song as the countdown to the end. When it finished, he’d have to stand guard against the fans until they began to trickle out of the theater. They’d undoubtably find their way backstage, if they were determined enough, and he’d need to be there to stop them too. But this was unquestionably the point in his evening where the battle turned in his favor. From here forward, he could stop his upper body workout and focus on honing his intimidating glare instead. Hell, he might even get to speak with a few people before he fell asleep in the moving bus.

He blinked when the house lights came on, looking over the crowd to see the mass already breaking up at the back. A few kids were hanging over the barrier, looking completely dazed. Jughead distributed water bottles to those who were looking the most pallid. He slipped his ear plugs out and dropped them to the ground, letting the gentle buzz of many conversations wash over him for the first time that evening. Standing so close to the sound equipment, he had to do whatever he could to deafen himself or he’d permanently lose his hearing after a few consecutive nights on the job.

He swept his hat off his head momentarily and ran a hand through his hair, cringing as he felt how sweaty he had gotten. Before they pulled out of Detroit, he’d have to give himself a quick rinse. Most venues had at least one passable shower, at least. Of course, The Archies would get priority bathroom time before their crew. Tomorrow they’d be in another state, and Jughead was hoping that he wouldn’t have to wait until then for his turn with some soap. It wouldn’t be the first time, unfortunately.

Replacing his hat, he waited until he was satisfied that enough of the crowd had moved away from those on the front line. None of the kids looked like they were going to pass out any more. Jughead moved purposefully backstage, heading straight for the green room.

He positioned himself outside the door, allowing a moment of rest as he leaned against the wall. So far, it appeared that none of the fans had worked their way this far into the building. Crossing his arms, he glanced back and forth along the hallway and prepared to continue keeping watch. Until the band was on their bus, he’d be on the alert.

Betty eased her flats off her feet as Veronica kicked away her heels. They’d agreed to let Archie have the first shower, since he was virtually dripping by the time they’d found their dressing room. Collapsing onto a low couch, Betty closed her eyes and let out a long breath. She cracked one eye open and looked over at Veronica, feeling exhaustion creep into every cell of her body.

“I think that went well,” Veronica commented, taking off her earrings and placing them in a small jewelry box at her vanity. Two glasses of white wine were already poured on the low coffee table, probably set out by one of the venue attendants. 

Betty took hers and knocked it back, letting the cool liquid wash through her. She wouldn’t be 21 until July, but Archie and Veronica both had birthdays earlier in the year. Since they enjoyed drinks after the show, no one was excluding Betty from the festivities. It was a little rebellion that her mother would never need to know about.

She looked over at the door of the green room, narrowing her eyes. Beyond that door, their bouncer would still be working. “Same as last night,” Betty said quietly, in response to Veronica’s statement. 

Her best friend looked over and noted the path of her eyes. Smirking, Veronica dropped onto the couch next to her and picked up her own glass of wine. Cradling the swell of the cup in the palm of her hand, she tucked a lock of dark hair behind one ear and curled her lips in a cat-like smile. “Thinking about someone again, B?”

Betty blinked and took another gulp of her wine. Their manager had forbidden any of them from becoming romantically involved while they were promoting the band. They’d all signed confidentiality agreements promising never to allow the press to catch them with anyone who might be misconstrued as a significant other. Fans were willing to pay top dollar for a chance to be photographed with individual band members. Magazines and websites were running articles with interviews where each member described their idea of a perfect date. They’d memorized carefully scripted responses put together by their PR team describing their ideal partners, the words intentionally vague to capture the imaginations of the most fans.

Unbidden, her script began to scroll through her mind. _The perfect boyfriend would be supportive of my career,_ she could hear herself saying, countless interviewers flashing in her memories.

Once, years ago, she’d pushed herself onstage with Archie and Veronica in a half-baked plan to win over the heart of the boy next door. But Betty entertained no illusions about Archie falling in love with her, now. They’d been on one and a half tours now, spent months together in a cramped bus, gotten ready night after night in the same dressing room. He’d never said a single word indicating that he thought of her as anything more than a sister. It would have broken her sixteen year old heart to realize that she was planning to spend the majority of her teens pining after an unrequited love. Call her jaded, now, but she was finally over it.

She tore her eyes away from the door and looked at Veronica. “No,” she said, hating that her voice emerged as little more than a whisper.

Archie emerged from the bathroom in a cloud of steam, swiping at his hair with a towel. Sweat pants were hanging low on his hips. He reached for a t-shirt that was draped over the back of a chair, nodding to Veronica. “Your turn, V,” he said.

She rose from the couch and made her way into the bathroom after grabbing a change of clothes from her bag. To clear out the steam filling the room, Archie opened the only window and looked out into the city night. It was gently snowing outside, as it had been ever since they’d crossed the state line. A gust of cool air breezed through the dressing room and Betty shivered, drawing her legs up onto the couch and tucking one arm around them.

Archie picked up a sandwich left over from the earlier catering and took a bite, sinking into an armchair opposite Betty’s couch. She smiled faintly at him and he returned the expression warmly.

“Good crowd,” she commented, taking another sip from her glass.

Archie nodded, still chewing. He relaxed back into the chair and closed his eyes for a moment. Touring was taking all of their energy, and Betty probably noticed the dark circles forming beneath his eyes more than their fans ever would. Though they’d had months of practice, sleeping on a moving bus was hardly as restful as their own beds at home. He yawned, then finished off the sandwich. Pushing himself out of the chair as if he had been stuck to it, Archie glanced over in the mirror and checked his hair. “I’m beat, B. See you on the bus,” he said briefly.

Their crew would gather their belongings and make sure everything followed them on the road. Leaving the damp towel in a pile on the ground, he pushed the door of the green room open without any hesitation. Betty caught a glimpse of muscled arm and the sleeve of a black t-shirt before the door closed again.

She finished her wine while Veronica finished her shower. When the brunette emerged in her street clothes, hair clipped in a messy bun on top of her head, Betty rose to rinse off the sheen of the performance herself. Veronica flashed a smile and said, “See you on the bus, B. Don’t take too long.”

Betty laughed lightly. “Yeah, like you’d leave me here,” she joked.

Stepping into the steamy bathroom, she unbuttoned the pearl collar of her shirt and peeled it over her head. Betty tugged her ponytail free. She pushed her Bermuda shorts off her hips and stepped out of her panties, leaving all of her clothes in a heap on the ground.

She let the water slide over her, closing her eyes as she felt it seep through her hair and over her scalp. Grabbing the bottle of shampoo, she poured a handful and began massaging it into her scalp. When she’d worked up enough lather, she twisted her blonde hair and piled it on top of her head.

Allowing herself to truly relax, she took the bar of soap from the ledge and ran it over her skin. Betty closed her eyes and slid it beneath her breasts, using her other hand to rinse the soap away. She slid the bar over her thighs and across her flat belly, turning to allow the suds to seep down the drain. A gust of chilled air suddenly slapped against her skin and her eyes shot open, just in time to see the edge of a smartphone as someone quickly moved out the door.

Betty didn’t even think—she just screamed.

—————

Jughead was waiting for Betty to leave the green room, hoping that there would be enough time catch a shower before the stage crew came to pack up the band’s personals. He had been surprised by the few fans that managed to make their way backstage tonight. At least one venue on the tour seemed to have decent security, for once. 

He sighed and stretched his neck, his back still pressed against the wall. Admittedly he had a later night than the band members, but that was what he was paid to do. He’d sleep as late as he could on the bus before his coworkers began to rise, unpacking at their next stop. His mind drifted momentarily, considering whether the bed on the bus or the camp bed he’d moved around as a kid was more or less comfortable. Jughead rarely thought about his past, but he could’t exactly bring his paperback in to work each night and there was nothing much to do once the fans had gone home. More and more lately, he’d found his mind wandering. Better to focus on idle memories than think about a particular blonde young woman.

Just as these thoughts were drifting through his mind, he heard it. An unmistakable scream.

Jughead spun into action. He burst into the green room. A figure was just scurrying out the open window and the door of the bathroom was open. He could still hear the shower running as steam wafted into the larger room. Lunging forward, he caught hold of the intruder’s jacket and hauled them back inside.

“Hey—what the fuck—“ the figure swore, struggling against him. Jughead closed his hand tightly around an arm, spinning the person around. Before he could react, Jughead’s fist connected with his face, and he would have fallen to the ground if there hadn’t been a hand in a vice-like grip on his arm.

Betty stepped out of the bathroom with a towel wrapped around her, hair dripping and wide green eyes unblinking as she took in the scene. Jughead glanced over at her, unable to stop himself from noting the way her collar bone curved gracefully above the swell of her shoulder. He turned back to the lowlife slumped in his hand. The guy’s nose was gushing blood, and Jughead was certain that he’d broken it.

“What happened?” he asked, heart hammering as he became painfully aware that this was the first thing he’d said to her in months.

Her voice sounded panicked, raised higher than usual with a hint of hysteria. “I—I’m not sure. I was taking a shower, and—oh, fuck—I think he took my picture.”

Jughead felt something nasty twist within his gut. He glared down at the unconscious intruder, eyes picking them over for any sign of a cell phone. Not relinquishing his grip, Jughead began to pat him down.

He drew the phone out of the guy’s pocket and dropped it to the ground, letting it shatter. With a step forward, he ground his boot over the remains, making sure that nothing could be salvaged.

Betty watched from against the wall, blinking rapidly as if she was fighting back tears. Jughead looked over at her, noticing that her chest was heaving as she fought to catch her breath. He couldn’t help starting forward when she slid down onto her knees, her shoulders shaking.

“Hey—are you okay?” he asked, frowning. Betty didn’t answer. Jughead hauled the intruder into the hallway and shoved him against the opposite wall. A security guard that happened to be passing down a perpendicular hallway saw the unusual scene, rushing over to assist Jughead immediately. The guard lifted the intruder’s wallet and pulled out his own cell phone, already summoning backup.

Jughead let the intruder fall to the ground in a heap and turned back to the dressing room, closing the door behind himself to give Betty some privacy. He rushed over to where she was still slumped on the ground, kneeling at her side. His instincts screamed that he should reach out and comfort her, but something told him that he shouldn’t be caught touching his mostly naked ward after an incident like this had happened on his watch.

“Sorry—“ she gasped. Betty was still fighting to control her breathing. Jughead wanted to laugh. What on earth was she apologizing for?

He tossed caution to the wind and reached over, letting his fingertips graze her shoulder before he settled his palm in place. Security should be here in a minute and he needed to get her calm and dressed before they arrived.

“Betty, it’s okay,” he said. He knew it wasn’t okay, not at all, but the empty words were meant to be comforting. Her green eyes met his and he couldn’t stop himself from leaning forward, pressing his forehead against hers. Betty blinked a few times and seemed to catch her breath at last. He realized that she was still clutching his arm, her fingers starting to dig painfully into his bicep. Jughead let himself reach out and smooth his hand over her hair, still trying to calm her down.

She relaxed her grip on his arm and closed her eyes for a moment, her breathing starting to even out. Jughead was just telling himself to let go of her and give her some space when she suddenly opened her eyes and tilted her chin up, pressing her lips against his.

Alarms screeched through his mind, a fleeting vision of Harold Fry dancing over the inside of his eyelids, but Jughead found himself pressing forward and returning her kiss. One of her hands was still clasping her towel over her breasts. The other slid up his arm and rested on the back of his neck, pulling him gently toward her. His mind momentarily couldn’t catch up with his body as he began to realize that Betty Cooper—famous Betty Cooper—his _job_ Betty Cooper—was dragging his lower lip between her teeth as he’d watched her nibble her own lip for months. The urge to pull her onto his lap was nearly overwhelming.

He was the one fighting for breath when she finally released him, her green eyes searching his. Jughead felt himself gaping like a fool, snapping his mouth closed in embarrassment. Heat rushed over his face.

“Sorry,” she whispered again. “I don’t even know—“

“Jones,” he interrupted, the absurdity of the situation starting to settle in. This was beyond unprofessional—if Fry didn’t get him replaced before the next evening, it would be a miracle. Losing his job wouldn’t be so bad, but it would mean that he wouldn’t be able to protect her any more, or catch her glance each night. He knew that it was impossible for her to think of him that way—though she _had_ been the one to kiss _him_ , or so it had seemed.

Betty shocked him to the core as she released the hand gripping her towel and lifted it to gently stroke his jaw. Wherever her fingers grazed his skin, she left a trail of invisible fire. It seemed the moment stretched between them for a lifetime, but a sound at the door jarred them both back to reality.

Jughead moved away from her immediately, some semblance of his responsibilities propelling him into action once again. He stood up and held out one hand, meeting her unwavering gaze. Betty took it and stood up, glancing over at the door before she grabbed a handful of clothes from the bag at her vanity.

She disappeared into the bathroom and he heard the click of the lock. Jughead turned and opened the door of the green room to deal with the mess of the evening.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter: Betty gets some bad news, two phones get new contacts, and some introductions are made.


	2. Harold

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for your kind comments!

“WHERE IS SHE?” the voice boomed through the empty auditorium, echoing back from the balconies and boxes. Betty jumped at the intensity of the shout. Across the stage, Archie gestured in her direction, his eyes following a figure as it made its way down from the back of the house.

The unmistakable form of their manager, Harold Fry, took shape from the shadows. Betty brushed her hair back from her face and straightened. She’d been tucking her set list beneath the foot of her bass stand where it wouldn’t accidentally be cleared away by a well meaning stage hand. Automatically, she swiped her hair into a quick ponytail and moved to the edge of the stage to meet him.

Archie and Veronica looked at each other as Betty stared down their approaching manager. Safely on the bus, and once again on the move, she’d told them last night about the intruder in the dressing room. Archie blamed himself at first for opening the window, but Betty reminded him that it had been a perfectly natural thing to do. None of them could have known about the fire escape outside. She reassured them, and herself, that Jones had wrecked the phone before any photos had gotten out. Betty couldn’t imagine what it would feel like knowing that pictures of her naked body had been shared online. Adoring fans were something she could handle, but she didn’t want anyone thinking that she was the sort of person who would condone something like that being shared. Or perhaps that was her mother’s influence overshadowing her own judgment again. Whatever the case, she was relieved that she didn’t have to worry about it. Thank goodness he’d still been standing watch outside the door.

She watched Fry curiously as he marched up. He wasn’t necessarily overweight, but his face had the roundness of someone who was not accustomed to hunger. He always wore a three piece suit, even when they had time off. Today, it was matching brown tweed with a burnt orange undershirt. His polished wingtip shoes gleamed in the low house lights, snapping against the floor as he approached. A middle aged man, slightly older than her mother, Betty often wondered what Fry had been like as a teenager. She imagined him sitting in chemistry, refusing to roll up his suit jacket sleeves to participate in a practical lesson. She wondered if he’d ever been swimming, an image of a fully suited Fry on a poolside recliner flitting through her imagination. Betty pressed her lips together slightly to prevent herself from smiling as he approached.

He was scowling, and he wiped a handkerchief across his brow as he looked Betty up and down. She sat down on the edge of the stage and let her legs dangle into the space where Jones would be fending off the crowd later that night. “Hi, Harold,” she greeted, still unsure about his unusually flustered approach.

“Save it, Betty. We have trouble,” he said, gasping slightly from the exertion of rushing across the room. He wiped his brow again. A single piece of mousy brown hair fell out of the carefully gelled helmet atop his head, and Betty looked at it worryingly. At his words, Archie and Veronica drifted to Betty’s sides. She glanced over and felt grateful for the presence of her friends, wondering what Harold might be on about. Surely the intruder wasn’t suing their team about his injuries. Jones had hit him pretty hard, and there had been blood, but Betty was sure it wasn’t any sort of permanent damage. Unless he’d been hit much harder than she realized, and died later on? A twist of anxiety curled through her stomach, her expression unconsciously darkening.

Harold glanced at Archie and Veronica, then let his watery eyes rest on Betty. “I already called our legal team, and Francine is working on a press statement,” he asserted, as if they were seeking some reassurance that he’d already done his job.

She was fully frowning now. They’d given a full report of the incident to the venue’s security team and a local law enforcement officer, which had been forwarded to the band’s manager immediately. She couldn’t fathom what sort of trouble would possibly follow. There was a moment of silence as the trio waited for Harold to catch his breath and explain what was happening.

Betty jumped when Veronica nudged her with an elbow. She glanced over at her best friend. Veronica had taken out her cell phone and tapped the screen for a few moments after Harold spoke. With a grim expression, she passed Betty her pink-sheathed iPhone. Before she even looked at the screen, she felt her throat constricting.

————

Jughead was laying on his bunk in the tour bus, a battered copy of Margaret Atwood’s _Oryx and Crake_ spread eagle on his chest. He’d been reading for a few hours, but the events of the previous evening kept playing through his mind like a song he couldn’t get out of his head. Whenever he closed his eyes, a pair of green irises were there to greet him. 

He admonished himself, sternly recommending that he needed to get it together. Sure, she was exactly the type of wholesome blonde he’d enjoyed pursuing when he was younger. That was just a part of her promotional schtick, and he wasn’t sure after that kiss that he’d necessarily refer to her as wholesome. And what had that been last night, when she couldn’t breathe? Asthma? A panic attack? He’d never seen her with an inhaler, when he thought about it. 

He’d reported everything faithfully to Harold at the first opportunity. Sure, it was well past midnight in the Midwest, but Harold’s pacific time zone was four hours behind. He’d been eating dinner when he got Jughead’s call. Tactfully, the kiss had been the one detail that Jughead didn’t willingly confess. He liked his job, for now, and wasn’t willing to get shipped home just yet. For that matter, he wasn’t totally certain that he still had a home to be shipped back to, anyway.

With a sigh, Jughead realized that he wasn’t going to get Betty off his mind very easily that afternoon. He reached over for his cell phone and thumbed past the lock screen. Intending to google a picture of her to verify that his imagination wasn’t embellishing the intense saturation of her green eyes, he was mildly surprised when her full name and the word “photos” was the top Google suggestion after he typed the letter “B”.

Jughead hit enter and waited a moment while his phone loaded the results. Less than a second later, his paperback hit the ground as he leaped up from his bunk. He didn’t even bother putting on his hat as he rushed out of the bus, his feet propelling him into the empty husk of the concert venue. Three young girls—probably fans—were perched on the garden wall next to the tour busses, but they scattered out of his way as he ran inside.

He saw Archie and Veronica first, speaking softly to one another outside their dressing room. Their heads were bent together so that they could keep their voices low, hair almost touching. At the sound of his feet, both looked over.

“Where’s Betty?” He asked quickly, his hand tightening around his phone.

Veronica looked him once over, her eyes lingering on the disheveled mess that must have been his hair. Jughead was about to repeat himself when she suddenly said, “She’s inside.”

Archie was looking at the phone in Jughead’s hand. He exhaled slowly and met his eyes, his expression purely concerned. “She already knows, man. Harold’s losing it trying to figure out what to do.”

Jughead shook his head. “That phone was dust,” he muttered, suddenly furious with himself. What was this, the 90s? Of course, there were cloud services. Companies worked their tails off making sure that people could recover their precious photos in situations like this. He should have woken up that fucking creep, made him unlock his phone, and deleted every single burst that had been recorded. Then smashed it to pieces.

Veronica laughed shortly, without humor. Jughead looked at her with a puzzled frown, and she shook her head. “I always figured I’d be dealing with this sort of thing, not poor B. Her mom is going to lose it, too.”

Archie put his hand on her arm. Some inkling of Jughead’s memory that was still functioning through his self-loathing recalled that all three had gone to grade school together. Privately he’d expected this sort of thing to happen to Veronica too, since he was nightly subjected to the things her fans decided to scream at her. But Betty...

“We just have to be there for her, V,” Archie said, looking down at the brunette young woman. She pursed her lips and looked back up at Jughead, the frown still creasing her brow.

“Thank you,” she said, surprising him. Jughead opened his mouth to ask why, but Veronica wasn’t done. “I’ve seen the way you take care of the fans, and if you hadn’t been there for Betty...”

Archie was nodding. “Yeah, man. And we don’t even know your name.”

He felt himself relax slightly, though he was still inwardly irate at his mistake and what it had cost Betty. At least Veronica and Archie weren’t blaming him for it. He forced the ghost of a smile and said, “People call me Jughead. Jughead Jones.”

Veronica extended her hand formally. He stared a moment before he shook it. She gripped firmly, looking him straight in the eye. For a small woman, he was getting the impression that she could be truly terrifying if she wanted to be. “Thank you, Jug Head,” she repeated.

His nickname sounded ridiculous coming from her mouth. Feeling heat spread over the back of his neck, he said, “It’s a bad nickname for an even worse birth name. Hippie parents.”

Archie laughed at his sarcastic comment, holding out his own hand. Jughead reached over and shook it, relieved that Archie seemed less intent on realigning the bones in his hand than Veronica. “Some day you’ll have to tell us what it is,” he said with a smile.

He nodded and glanced over at the door, forgetting their lighthearted introductions instantly. “How bad will this be for her?” he asked, wanting to know what his blind rage had caused that sweet blonde to go through. Veronica and Archie exchanged a glance.

“Well, it will be a few days before they’re able to get most of the websites to remove the photos, according to Harold. This kind of thing happens, though,” Archie shrugged.

Veronica’s eyes flashed in his direction. “Only because some sick fucks—“

Archie looked over at Jughead and interrupted, “We’re more concerned about how Betty will take it, personally. Harold can handle the publicity crap.”

Jughead nodded, still frowning. He was concerned about how Betty would handle it, too. Though, standing with the two celebrities in the hallway, he couldn’t help but realize that he was the least entitled of all those present to worry about Betty’s feelings. He wondered if she’d told them about—

“I’m glad you were there,” Veronica said, breaking into his thoughts. “B might never admit it, but I know she likes you.”

Archie elbowed her lightly and glanced over at the door. Veronica shrugged, as if they were having a wordless conversation. Unable to interpret, Jughead was left simply to consider how the brunette’s confession was acting like a shot of adrenaline to his heart. Hearing the beat in his ears, he chose to ignore what Veronica had revealed and said, “Well, she seems really sweet. She doesn’t deserve this kind of thing.”

Archie and Veronica looked back at him with mild expressions, as if he’d just commented on the shade of paint in the hallway. The ginger replied empathetically, “She _is_ really sweet. That’s why we aren’t sure how she’ll take it.”

Jughead looked from one to the other, his frown deepening. He was starting to understand what they’d been whispering about when he approached. “What—you mean, it’s not an act?”

Veronica sighed heavily. “You mean her goody-goody wardrobe and those big innocent eyes?” she asked, shifting her weight from one foot to the other. Jughead noticed for the first time that she was still wearing impossibly tall heels. So along with Betty’s stage persona, Veronica’s heels were also a true representation of her private life?

“It’s not an act,” Archie said plainly. “I’ve known that girl my whole life. She really is like that.”

Jughead blinked, his mind flashing back to the night before, when he’d been kissing her—and thinking of all the things he’d love to do to her, _with_ her...he wondered suddenly, absurdly, if that had been her first kiss. He reassured himself that it couldn’t be, that Betty had to be at least over the drinking age, that she must have a sordid history of boyfriends that she wasn’t sharing openly with the press. After all, it had seemed like she knew what she was doing.

He looked from Archie to Veronica and said the only thing he could. “Well, shit.”

To his surprise, Veronica laughed with real amusement in response. Even Archie seemed to lighten a bit. He smiled over at Jughead and said warmly, “It’s nice to actually meet you, man. Glad to know someone else gets Betty at last, too.”

Jughead was going to reply when the trio was approached by Trent, their reserved drummer. He looked curiously at Jughead and then stared at Veronica and Archie, a frown deepening his brows. “What’s up? Where’s B?” he asked, shoving his hands nonchalantly into the pockets of his jeans.

Veronica rolled her eyes and turned toward Jughead, literally putting the back of her shoulder toward Trent. She looked up at her new acquaintance and said, “I’ll let B know you were concerned.”

With that dismissal, Jughead nodded. Back to business, then. He glanced over at Trent, who stared at him with a sort of unblinking intensity, then turned and retreated back down the hallway. Jughead shoved his phone into his pocket after glancing at the time. Three and a half hours until showtime.

—————

Betty swiped at her mascara-ringed eyes again, noticing dimly that her hand was shaking. She stared over at the open laptop screen, glancing between her mother’s slightly pixelated face and Harold’s sweating one. Two cell phones lay on the table next to the laptop, their screens lit up as Francine and Leonard were included on speaker phone in their little meeting. Francine, the PR genius that was responsible for promoting The Archies as the latest celebrity sex symbols, was babbling on about how they could choose to spin these leaked photos to their advantage. Leonard, the representative for their recording studio, was tellingly silent. Alice, her mother, was continually trying to get a word in amongst Francine’s rambling—words that sounded dangerously like Betty’s full Christian name, words that sounded more like a reprimand than any sort of comfort.

She couldn’t help the tears that kept running quietly out of her eyes. No matter how much she wiped them away, it seemed like new ones kept reappearing. Betty was focusing simply on keeping her breathing even, her mind flashing back to the terrifying feeling she’d experienced the night before when it seemed like no matter how much air she gulped into her lungs she’d never fully inflate them again. She closed her leaking eyes and thought briefly of a pair of blue eyes, which had stared into hers until she felt like the shattered pieces of herself were able to come together again. As she breathed calmly, she imagined the weight of a hand on her shoulder. Betty let herself meditate for a few more moments, finally noting that her tears seemed to be drying up the longer that she kept her eyes firmly closed.

When she dared to open them, Harold was swiping his handkerchief across his brow again and shaking his head at Francine, who couldn’t see him. “—Absolutely not, that will ruin her image, we need to explain that this was a journalist who got out of hand—“ he interrupted, spraying a mouthful across the screen of the laptop. Betty watched with mild interest as a drop of Harold’s spit seemed to drip down her mother’s forehead.

She brushed her palms over her eyes again then let her hands rest at her sides. The longer they spoke, the more she felt herself curling her fingers into her palms. A detached part of herself noted that they were discussing all of this without her input, like usual. It was pink cardigans and ponytails all over again.

“We need to get Laura on the phone,” Francine shouted, referring to Betty’s stylist. “The public can see that Betty is a grown woman, and we need to start promoting her that way! She’s not sixteen any more.”

Alice’s eyes flashed and her face got closer to the webcam, as if she could come through the screen and put her mouth closer to the cell phone when she barked back at Francine. “Absolutely not—this is my _youngest daughter_ you’re discussing—we won’t respond to this _terrorism_ by giving them what they want! Sexy pop stars are a dime a dozen, and Betty’s allure is her feminine mystique!”

Leonard spoke up, contributing perhaps his first statement to the bickering between Francine and Alice. “That’s true, Francine, and that’s why they went to these lengths to get the pictures they did.”

Betty sank back into the couch and felt her fingernails painfully digging into her skin. It was like biting her lip or chewing the inside of her cheek, only this little rebellion was a sharp shock of pain that kept her from speaking her mind to her mother and kept her mother from realizing that she was rebelling. Fewer things set Alice off on a tirade than the sight of Betty biting her lip— _her face was worth something, now, she couldn’t go around looking like she’d been hit in the mouth_.

She looked over at Harold. “Mr. Fry,” she said, addressing him formally since her mother was technically in the room. “I need some air. Do you mind if I see about getting some tea? My throat is feeling a little funny.”

Immediately, her team was shocked into silence. With the evening’s performance only a few hours away, Betty’s voice was of more concern than some nude photos leaked to the internet. Harold rose from his seat and gestured jerkily toward the door. She rose and crossed the room, letting herself out into the hall.

Archie, Veronica, and Trent were gathered immediately outside the door. They looked over with guilty expressions like they had been discussing her predicament, mouths closing quickly when they saw her emerge. Archie at least flashed a consoling smile, reaching out and patting her upper arm. “Hey, Betty,” he said, his voice sounding uncertain. 

She pressed her lips into a thin smile and glanced over at Veronica. “I was going to go and find some tea. Feel like going to Starbucks?” she asked, hopeful that her friend would take the hint and go along.

Veronica looked over at their band mates and back at Betty. She blinked innocently. “I actually need to help the guys make sure that the venue is good to go with the confetti bombs,” she said, sounding as apologetic as one could when the phrase ‘confetti bombs’ was uttered out loud. Veronica glanced further down the hallway. “You probably shouldn’t go out into the city alone, though. Maybe Jughead will go with you.”

Archie opened his mouth like he was going to say something, but Veronica shot him a glare and he snapped his jaw closed. Trent looked between them with a bewildered expression, then let his eyes settle on Betty. “Was that the name of the guy you were talking to earlier?” he asked, frowning.

Betty met Veronica’s eyes. “I’m not sure who you’re talking about,” she said, frowning as well.

Veronica huffed. “Oh, you know. That security guy, your knight in shining armor. We just met him when he came inside to make sure you were okay today. He’s called Jughead Jones.”

It clicked in Betty’s mind, then. Jones was obviously his last name, she should have realized when he said it last night. She wondered briefly what sort of parents would give their child a name like that, but his concerned expression drifted across her prefrontal cortex and erased all conscious consideration of the oddity.

She hadn’t told Veronica or Archie about the kiss last night, either. Betty was still trying to determine whether she’d started it or he had, though a little voice at the back of her mind was insisting that it had been all her fault. Of course, she’d kissed people before kissing Jones, but she’d never felt such a boiling knot coil through her belly when she’d pressed her lips against theirs. She’d never kissed anyone while she was panicking, either, though. So maybe the feeling had been residual nerves.

Veronica was watching her, concern swimming in her dark eyes as she watched her friend battle internally. More than likely, Veronica was thinking that Betty was struggling with the embarrassment of having her photos leaked. She calmed her nerves and decided privately that it was probably a good thing Veronica had decided to give her a little bit of time alone with Jughead. Betty had been worrying all morning about how she’d react when they reported to work that evening. It would be better to speak with him and get her nerves out of the way before the show.

“Great idea,” Betty said, in belated response to Veronica’s suggestion. Archie and Trent both looked at her like she’d grown a second head. She turned and made her way down the hall, realizing immediately that she had no idea where any of their crew went during the day as they prepared for each show. Betty decided she’d start her search on the tour bus, then move back into the venue. And when she found Jones, she’d make sure she got his number so he’d be easier to find next time.

—————

Jughead paced the bus for a minute, running over his conversation with Archie and Veronica in his mind. If he’d known the truth about Betty, he would have never allowed himself to get so close with her last night. If she wanted to, she could blame this whole mess on Jughead, and it would serve him right. He wasn’t ready to consider going home, but there would be very few other options open to him at this point. After a few months on the road, his bank account was starting to look a little less red, but he’d have to come up with another job quickly if he wanted to keep avoiding—

He was jarred out of his thoughts when he heard a sound at the door of the bus. It was a few different voices, all of them female. Jughead went curiously to the window, glancing outside.

The three young fans he’d seen earlier had backed a certain blonde against the door of the bus, and she was signing a few items they were holding out to her. She smiled as they held out phones to take selfies with her, and Jughead saw a flash of green as she glanced anxiously up at the bus.

He opened the door, reaching out and bracing Betty’s shoulder before she fell back against the stairs. She looked over at him with relief. “It’s so nice to meet our fans,” she said warmly to the girls, flashing her largest smile. “Thank you so much for coming to the show, we’ll see you tonight!” The trio was craning up on their toes in an effort to see into the bus, crowding even closer. Seeing that, Jughead pulled her behind his body and separated her from the fans. Betty climbed the stairs quickly and he closed the door behind her after a final glance at the girls in the street. Seeing them get the hint and back off, Jughead slid the lock into place.

He turned to regard Betty, who was looking at him with the same anxious expression she’d worn last night. Her brilliant smile was gone, and Jughead suspected that it was as artificial as a fluorescent light and just as easy to switch on and off. He crossed his arms, trying not to look as anxious as he felt. There were very few reasons he could think of that she’d come to see him, and risk being caught outside by the fans.

“I didn’t get your first name,” she said quietly, her voice hardly more than a whisper.

If his eyebrows could have retreated into his hairline, they would have in that moment. Jughead blinked and said, “Sorry. Jughead Jones,” for the second time in an hour. 

Betty’s mouth quirked into what appeared to be more of a genuine smile. Her massacred eyes fluttered and she said, “Nice to meet you. I’m Betty,” with a bit of a laugh.

He didn’t miss the way her eyes were rimmed in red, or the slight smudge of kohl below her eyes. Jughead could tell she’d been crying. Her somewhat hysterical introduction indicated that she was still on edge, too. His instincts screamed at him to close the distance between them and put his hands on her arms, but he remained frozen in place. His mind overruled his inner Neanderthal and he reasoned that she might be here to fire him.

“I know,” he said, in response to her introduction. Trying to sound nonchalant despite the pounding of his heart, he said, “What brings you…outside?”

Betty giggled again, leaning back against one of the bunks. Her foot nudged his novel, but she didn’t even look down to see what she’d bumped. She said softly, “My life is a mess. I felt like coming outside, is that okay?”

Jughead made himself relax. He leaned back against the half-wall lining the stairwell. Crossing his arms, but trying not to look threatening, he softened his expression and said, “Of course it’s okay, Betty. I mean, were you looking for me?”

She straightened and fumbled in her pocket, producing her phone. He felt a stab of nerves pierce his gut, his eyes following her fingers as she deftly tapped her way into the screen. He was certain that she’d say something about the photos, about last night, about his life. Instead, Betty glanced up at him and said, “Yeah, actually. And I was wondering if I could get your number so that I don’t have to come looking for you again when I need you.”

Her words might have echoed in the empty bus, or they might have echoed in his empty mind. _When I need you_ , she said, over and over and over and over.

Betty blinked and her brows came together. She stared at him, waiting. Finally, she said, “Um…you have a phone, right?”

Jughead snapped back into his body and slipped his phone out of his pocket. It slid through his fingers like wet soap, and he hardly caught it by the corner of the screen before it plummeted to the ground. Unlocking the screen, he met her questioning gaze and said, “Yeah, of course. Uh…” he paused, looking for the right words. “Why would you need me?”

It was Betty’s turn to look flustered. She glanced down at her feet. Noticing the book, she leaned over and picked it up, flattening the cover and setting it on the bed at her side. She took a deep breath and met his eyes again. “I want to get some tea,” she said.

Jughead stared. Why did it feel like this conversation was making absolutely zero sense? “I don’t have any,” he admitted, wondering immediately why he was lacking the one thing she’d ever requested from him. For this girl, he wanted nothing more than to reply smoothly by saying, _Black or green? Chamomile? Oolong?_

She giggled again. “Sorry. I want to go get some tea, and I can’t go by myself. Would you mind?”

Finally, reason seemed to catch up with him. He nodded. “Yeah, here, let me see your phone.”

They exchanged phones. He typed in his number and added himself as a contact, entering his name for her. Betty handed him back his phone and he glanced down at the screen. She’d saved her name with a red heart emoji after it. The pixels burned briefly into his retinas.

She opened an app on her phone and tapped away for a moment. “I called us an Uber,” she said. “We’ll just run up to the Starbucks a few blocks from here, then come back. I was hoping, just in case we saw any fans…” her green eyes met his, and he nodded.

“Of course, Betty,” he agreed, knowing implicitly what his role would be on this outing.

She glanced over at the window of the bus, and he wasn’t sure for a moment what she was thinking. Suddenly, she reached up and pulled the tie out of her ponytail. Fluffing her hair around her head, she unbuttoned her petal-pink cardigan and dropped it in a heap next to the bed. “Do you have a spare t-shirt?” she asked innocently, glancing over at him.

Jughead tried not to notice the way the strap of her camisole fell off her shoulder as she peeled away her sweater. He leaned across the bed and reached into his bag, grateful that he’d gone to a coin laundry in Cincinnati. Dropping a soft grey tee on her lap, he watched her tug it over her head. Betty looked up with another small smile and said, “I don’t suppose you have a pair of big sunglasses lying around? Or a hat?”

He blinked, eyes flashing immediately to the beanie he’d forgotten earlier when he’d rushed inside. Of course he had a hat, and she’d seen him wear it every night since the tour had begun. Jughead’s heart was threatening to pound its way out of his ribcage. Betty had no way of knowing what that hat meant to him, he reasoned. She had no idea that he’d never let anyone else wear it, that it had hardly been out of his sight since it had come into his possession. She was famous and she was trying to disguise herself, to make his job easier when they went to a coffee shop less than a mile from the concert venue she’d be singing in within a few hours. 

Jughead grabbed the hat and handed it to her, trying not to think too much about it. Betty tugged it over her blonde tresses, tucking a few loose strands behind her ears.

He wasn't expecting the way his body would react to her altered appearance. Seeing her, in his t-shirt and hat, with her hair loose around her shoulders, was about damn near the sexiest thing he’d seen in his life. Sure, Betty was a celebrity and he’d fantasized about her as much as any other male that found her attractive. But this was beyond anything he could have dreamed of.

She noticed him staring, or maybe she heard the way his breath hitched, and Betty allowed herself to flash another secretive smile. She rose from the edge of his bed and took a step toward him. 

Jughead remained where he was, wondering what she was doing.

—————

When Betty put that hat on, she made a decision. Jughead didn’t know about it, and she felt like it was something that he didn’t need to know, either. Francine was right. She was an adult woman, and she was tired of living up to her mother’s expectations. Harold and Leonard would probably agree, she reasoned. If the world wanted a sexier Betty Cooper, then that’s what she was going to give them.

She saw the way that he was looking at her. He might get a lot of practice looking intimidating for their fans, but in the afternoon sunlight filtering through the windows of the bus, he looked…vulnerable. Like he was younger maybe than she’d originally thought.

Betty rose from the bed and stepped toward him. She was looking into his eyes, unsure about what she expected to find. Memories of Reggie surfaced in her mind, but she firmly locked them away once more. As Jughead’s dark blue eyes met hers, she felt something stir deep within her core. No one had ever looked at her that way. Not like she was the only person in the world capable of completing him.

If she was worried about the intensity of his expression, she didn’t let it slow her down. Betty reached up and let her fingers trace over the edges of his jaw. His skin was smooth, like he’d shaved just moments ago. She’d been expecting at least the ghost of some stubble. A lock of hair fell into his eyes as he looked down at her, quietly questioning what she was doing. Betty looked up and hoped that he would trust her.

She stretched up onto her tip toes and pressed her lips against his. It was impossible to contain the sigh that escaped into his mouth as he slid his hands over her hips and let his fingers fit into the dip at the small of her back. Betty pressed forward, parting her lips to let his tongue seek out hers. She let her eyes flutter closed, her fingers lacing through his hair as she tilted her head to the side and allowed the kiss to deepen. Warmth was pooling deep within her, threatening to override all of her rational judgment. She let Jughead pull her against his body, relishing the delicious thrill than ran through her as she felt the contrast between all the places where they were hard or soft against one another.

Her phone buzzed unwelcomely in her pocket, signaling that their ride had arrived. Betty tensed, and Jughead pressed his forehead against hers. “We’ll call another one,” he said, his voice deep and rough with something primal. It sent goosebumps over her arms, but she shook her head.

“I’ll run out of time,” she said regretfully. Pulling herself away from him, feeling as if there was some unseen force drawing their bodies back together, Betty flashed a rueful smile. “We can continue this conversation later, Jones,” she promised.

He followed her out of the bus, and when she reached back and took his hand, he let her keep holding it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter: Betty comes up with a plan, makes an important discovery, and receives an uninvited guest. Also, things continue to heat up in the bughead department.


	3. Starbucks

Betty squinted against the sunlight as she stepped out of the Prius. The driver hadn’t recognized her—thank God—and Jughead had been silent during the short drive. He’d also allowed her to keep holding his hand in the back seat of the car. Betty had never been so focused on such an innocuous part of her body before. As they passed each city block, she’d memorized the way his hand fit into hers, each warm soft pressure point where their skin was touching, the feeling of his slightly calloused fingers brushing over the back of her hand…

She pulled him along behind her, still not willing to let go. A glance over her shoulder revealed that Jughead was glancing around cautiously, like he was looking for something. Betty followed his gaze and noticed a couple of teenagers gathered by a street bench, their phones raised in their hands. Her heart began to pound harder and she quickened her step. As they put their heads together and smiled at the screens, she relaxed. Harold Fry’s ridiculous contractual rider surfaced in her mind, and she wondered if she’d be able to convince him that she’d taken Jughead along for security reasons alone. Maybe not, if anyone got a photo of them holding hands.

She glanced up at his face and reluctantly disengaged their fingers, something fluttering in her stomach as she saw his brief nod of understanding. At least Jughead was thinking about the possible repercussions of their outing before she was. Maybe she’d ask Harold to give him a raise since he seemed to be so good at looking out for her.

As she waited in line inside the Starbucks, she anxiously tugged Jughead’s beanie further down on her head. It felt like it was making the tops of her ears stick out now, but that was probably a good thing in terms of being recognized. Betty glanced over at him and he was already looking at her, his mouth quirked up in a smile. Jughead put his hand on top of her head and smiled easily.

“You look fine,” he reassured her.

Betty glanced around the room again. “Thanks,” she said softly. She had the impulse to take his hand again, but she stopped. Instead, she curled her fingers and shoved them into her pocket.

They reached the front of the line. The barista looked up without a hint of recognition and asked what they wanted.

“A venti chai tea latte,” Betty requested.

“What name will that be?” the barista asked, naturally.

Betty opened and closed her mouth a few times. She glanced over at Jughead, her mind completely blank.

“Juliet,” he supplied, as if the name was actually hers. The barista glanced between them and narrowed her eyes slightly, but compliantly wrote the name on the side of the cup.

“Anything for you, sir?” the barista asked, looking over at him.

Jughead glanced down at Betty and then back at the barista. “I’ll have a venti caramel macchiato with an extra shot of espresso,” he said. “And a piece of the lemon pound cake.” Then he glanced over at the dessert window. “Oh, and a cake pop. The pink one. And, uh…this.” He dropped a tin of cherry candies into the counter space between them. The barista looked up at him skeptically.

“Will that be all, sir?” she asked, her fingers poised over the register.

He seemed to consider. “Yes. And it’s Jones,” he said, seeing her pick up the marker for the cup. 

Betty reached down for her purse, feeling her hand swing through empty air. She looked back up at Jughead in a panic, feeling her heart rise into her throat. Guilt immediately engulfed her. “Oh, uh—“

He glanced down at her, but he was already handing the barista his credit card. Flashing a smile, Jughead said easily, “Don’t worry about it, Juliet,” as he slipped the candies into his pocket.

She vowed quietly to speak to Harold about a raise, letting herself smile briefly back at him before she moved down to wait for her drink at the other end of the counter. The barista called, “Juliet!” three times before Betty jumped and realized that the drink was for her.

Jughead appeared at her side, the stick of the cake pop sticking out of his mouth. Holding the bag of lemon pound cake in his other hand, he collected his drink and raised his eyebrow as he looked from Betty to the door.

She unlocked her phone and re-summoned their uber driver. They waited in the relative safety of the Starbucks for her phone to buzz, glancing around for any sign of her fans. For the moment, they seemed to be safe. Jughead easily gravitated toward one of the black pleather armchairs that were open near the back of the seating area, and Betty had no choice but to follow him. She sank into the chair opposite his, setting her cup on the little table between them while she waited for it to cool to a drinkable temperature. Absently, she rubbed her fingers where they’d been holding the cup to dispel the heat that had been starting to burn unpleasantly.

Looking over at her companion and feeling somewhat shy, she racked through her mind for something to ask him. Betty didn’t want to jump into any topics that were too personal. Then she mentally shook herself—she’d kissed him twice now, and that was pretty damn personal, right? With that thought, she couldn’t help letting her eyes linger over his extremely pleasing features, including those surprisingly tender lips. Her next thought digressed toward how pleasurable it had been to kiss them—kiss him—and how much she’d like to do it again.

He slid the cake pop stick out of his mouth and smirked at her. Before Betty could say anything, he said, “You’re staring, Juliet. Thinking about something?”

A traitorous blush burned instantly across her face. She looked away quickly. “Yeah, sorry. I was wondering…was that your book, on the bus?”

He blinked, looking surprised. Clearly, he’d been expecting her to say something else. But after missing a beat, he replied, “Yeah, actually.”

Betty relaxed a little bit. Here was some safe conversational territory that didn’t involve her confessing how much she’d like an encore of their earlier intimacy. “What are you reading?”

Jughead seemed to relax too. He raised one shoulder dismissively and said, “It’s a dystopian science fiction novel. I’ve read it before, a long time ago.”

Her eyebrows raised in surprise. Looking at Jughead—seeing what line of work he was in—she wasn’t expecting to unearth this side of him. He didn’t appear to be an intellectual. The straight-A student within her clawed its way up from the depths of her mind, and she said, “Oh—I don’t think I’ve read it. Who’s the author?”

“Atwood,” Jughead responded instantly.

The name rang a bell. “Oh, the lady that wrote the novel about the future society with all the rules about women?” she asked, memories of a literature circle she’d participated in during her junior year flooding her mind.

“Yeah—that’s _The Handmaid’s Tale_ ," Jughead said helpfully. He raised his cup to his lips but didn’t tip it enough to drink. Maybe he’d been checking the temperature, because he put it on the table next to hers.

“I think that’s the only book I’ve read by that author,” Betty confessed. Then she said, “Do you read often?”

He nodded. “All the time, actually. I think I have more books in my bag than clothes right now.”

She glanced guiltily down at his shirt. “Oh—I’m sorry—I didn’t realize. Thank you for letting me borrow this,” she said quickly. Betty realized with some embarrassment that she’d pretty much demanded Jughead’s clothes to construct a disguise for herself—after demanding that he would accompany her as security to a coffee shop. She mentally kicked herself. Sometimes she worried that too much of her mother had imprinted itself upon her subconscious, and she didn’t even realize how she was bulldozing over the people around her.

Jughead waved a hand dismissively. “Don’t worry about it. I’ll get it back,” he commented. “What do you read?” he asked, sounding curious.

He had not asked ‘do you read’, Betty noticed, but ‘what’. He’d assumed right, at least. “I was working through a list of classics, actually. But since we’ve been on the tour, I’m ashamed to admit that I’ve been reading some of the trashiest romance novels I could find,” she said, smiling.

He smiled back at her. “I get that,” he said. “Sometimes it’s nice to read something that isn’t complicated. It’s relaxing.”

Betty nodded, pleased that he’d immediately understood. She didn’t want him to think that she was some brainless celebrity. She hadn’t pushed herself so hard in school just to throw away everything she’d worked for. Sure, Betty’s college plans were on hold right now. But she still assumed that eventually she would choose to study _something_ in her life.

“It’s nice to find someone who likes to read, too. Ronnie does sometimes, but I can’t remember the last time I saw Archie with a book,” Betty confessed, smiling. Then she realized her error and glanced around, hoping that no one had overheard her.

Jughead glanced around too, but not a single head in their vicinity turned in their direction. He relaxed and his easy smile returned. Looking back at Betty, he said, “I never pegged him as the intellectual type, no offense.”

She giggled immediately, unable to stop it. “None taken,” she laughed. “He’s definitely not—but he’s a brilliant writer.”

He looked at her skeptically. “If you consider repetition brilliant,” he commented sarcastically. “Again, no offense, but I’d hardly rank those lyrics with Byron or Whitman.”

She was surprised again. “Oh, you know your poetry?” she asked.

Jughead looked chagrined. “Of course—I graduated from high school, _Juliet_. I got decent grades, too.”

Their conversation had wrapped quickly from general topics to personal, she noted. Much as she’d tried to launch them into neutral territory, she had to admit to herself that she was starving for information about him. But before she could say anything in response, Jughead picked up his cup and his pound cake and rose from his seat. She stood up too, hoping she hadn’t upset him. Betty nearly jumped out of her skin when Jughead casually draped his arm over her shoulders.

She looked up at him, panic flaring in her stomach. “What—“

“They’ll be looking for you by yourself,” he commented. “But they won’t give Juliet a second glance.”

Betty jumped again as the door jingled to admit a crowd of kids she hadn’t noticed outside, who were all obviously waiting for the concert. They weren’t wearing enough to guard against the chill of the rapidly cooling afternoon, though their immaculate hair and carefully arranged accessories indicated that they’d given plenty of thought to their appearances. A few glanced in her direction and she pressed herself more firmly against Jughead’s side. A single lingering gaze remained fixed in their direction before the teen turned to their friends and rejoined the conversation. Betty relaxed—but jumped for a third time as her phone finally buzzed.

They slid into the back seat of the same Prius, and she apologized for summoning the driver back so quickly. He grunted and spun the wheel back toward the venue, his eyes flashing in the rear view mirror for a moment longer than Betty would have liked.

Betty let Jughead escort her into the back door of the venue, her hands clutching her Starbucks cup as if it was some sort of lifeline. She made it inside without encountering any other fans.

Before Betty took more than three steps inside, she felt Jughead’s arm slip around her waist. He guided her into a small room adjacent to the door—probably intended as a coat room in the colder months. There was no door, but all the bustle of preparation for the evening would be focused around the stage by now. The crew had long ago unloaded all the necessary equipment off the busses.

She looked questioningly up at him, unconsciously tilting her head to one side as she wondered why he’d brought her into this little room. Jughead set his coffee on the windowsill and turned back toward her. Wordlessly, he lifted her cup from her grip and set it on the ledge alongside his.

“What—“ she began.

He pulled her a little roughly against his body, hand cupping the back of her head as he pressed his lips against hers. Betty couldn’t help letting a little moan escape her. She let her lips part and slid her hands around the back of his neck. He ran his hands over her shoulders and along her spine, and she felt a little electric thrill as his fingers grazed he skin along the waistband of her shorts. Warmth burst through Betty’s body at the feeling of his hands running over her. She wondered briefly if his touch would feel this exhilarating without any clothes between them.

She let herself melt against him. It had been too long since Betty was held...by _anyone_. Something within her was screaming that this was just _right_. Jughead was the one who pulled away first, resting his hands on her hips as he pressed his forehead to hers. He was breathing quickly, and Betty was close enough to feel the definitive effect she was having on him.

“What is this?” he asked softly, his eyes meeting hers. “What are we doing?”

Betty blinked. The question was like an unwelcome dousing of cold water. She felt her body tensing as she increased the space between them. Betty had no idea what he was thinking, if she’d somehow stepped past a line he’d wanted to maintain. But despite what had happened last night and again on the bus, he’d brought her into this alcove and kissed _her_ this time, not the other way around. Was there a different reason that he was bringing this dose of reality in between them? Looking up into his face, she couldn’t stop herself from frowning.

“I didn’t—I don’t—usually, this sort of thing—“ she stammered, shaking her head. The words just weren’t happening right.

Jughead’s fingers squeezed into her hips, helping her center her thoughts. She looked up and met his eyes again. “I don’t have a girlfriend,” he said levelly. “I haven’t in a while.”

Betty felt a giggle make its way up from her stomach, surprised at the relief she felt as she took in his words. She’d been subconsciously waiting for him to admit that he wasn’t available. She couldn’t imagine any woman letting him go once she’d gotten someone like him. “I don’t have a boyfriend,” she said, even though he probably already knew that. “Technically, I’m not _allowed_ to have one any more.”

Jughead frowned down at her then, his hold on her hips relaxing. “But you’ve had one?”

She felt a flash of irritation. Of course she’d had a boyfriend, she felt like snapping. This was thanks to her mother, again. That wholesome, goody, innocent persona she’d been forced into promoting by their PR team had worked so well that Jughead was worried she didn’t know what she was doing with him. Betty felt a jolt of insecurity as she hoped he didn’t think that because she’d been doing something wrong. Maybe it had been so long since she kissed like this, she was bad at it.

Betty was too nervous to vocalize what she was thinking. She nodded, looking away from him.

He seemed to relax a bit. “Okay,” he said, pulling her close again. “Well, we don’t have to call this anything, _technically_. But I just thought you should know—I do like you, Betty.”

Her eyes snapped to his as her mind processed what he was saying. Betty hadn’t given herself a chance to think this through, not yesterday when she’d kissed him after her panic attack, or earlier in the bus. She’d been simply acting on the thoughts she’d been entertaining for the past few weeks, as she’d watched him night after night during their tour. She felt like Jughead had proven time and time again through his actions that he was the sort of person she most admired. And this—initiating a conversation like this, putting his feelings in the open between them—she wouldn’t admit it out loud yet, but he was starting to seem more and more like the sort of person she was willing to fall for. Fall hard.

He was still looking at her, his thumbs making slow tracks over her skin as he watched her consider his words. Betty let herself smile—a real smile, one that she could feel reaching her eyes—not the sort of smile she flashed onstage for the fans. She slid her hands around the back of his neck again and met his eyes. “I like you too,” she said softly.

Jughead laughed lightly. “I know,” he said, shocking her. “Veronica told me.”

Betty blinked in surprise, opened her mouth, then closed it again. In the back of her mind, she vowed to give Veronica the verbal lashing she’d earned as soon as it was humanly possible. Sure, she’d gushed over a few glasses of moscato about their attractive bouncer. She’d even spent some time staring wistfully at the closed door of a few dressing rooms as she considered what he was hiding beneath his wardrobe of plain black t-shirts. But Betty could hardly imagine any circumstance that would lead to Veronica betraying her trust like this and telling him about her feelings, before Betty had the opportunity to do so herself.

“When?” she finally asked, looking up at him.

Jughead shrugged one shoulder, his mouth quirking in amusement at her reaction. “She was worried about you, and I was too. I know this is…new, whatever this is. But you have my number now, Betty. If you need me, I’ll be there.”

She relaxed again, filing away Veronica’s betrayal for later. Betty processed what Jughead was saying. It had been so long—too long—since she’d had anyone other than Archie or Veronica to talk to, _really_ talk to. She looked up at his face and couldn’t help smiling again. Jughead had probably seen more real smiles from Betty in that single afternoon than her own mother had seen in the last three years, she thought ruefully.

“Thank you,” she whispered, leaning forward and resting her cheek on his chest. She felt Jughead lower his head to rest it on top of hers. His fingers curled in soft circles along her lower back while he held her. Betty closed her eyes for a moment and memorized the feeling.

He pulled away first again, giving her a wink as he plucked his hat from her head. Jughead settled it in place over his mop of curly dark hair. He slid his hands around her waist again and let his lips brush lightly over hers one last time. His fingers toyed with the hem of his own t-shirt. “I’ll need this back,” he said, smiling against her mouth. “Not that much luggage space on the other bus.”

Betty’s eyes widened and she blinked up. “Oh, gosh, I didn’t realize. How many of you are on the bus? Are there a lot of people?”

Jughead laughed shortly. “Just eight,” he commented, meeting her eyes.

Betty felt her eyebrows rise. “Eight?” she asked. There were only four beds in each bus, with a seat for the driver up front. “Where do—“

“Don’t worry about it,” he reassured her. His tongue flicked over her lower lip and she briefly felt her knees forget how to be knees. “I don’t share a bed with anyone, if you’re worried.”

She blinked and pressed her lips more firmly against his, then pulled back and shook her head. “No, I’m not worried. It’s your job, I guess. But with all the equipment…”

Jughead shrugged. “It gets crowded, sure. But it’s better than…well, never mind. Later, maybe. You have to get going. People will be looking for you.”

Betty reluctantly disentangled herself and glanced down at her phone. Shit, yes, people were going to be looking for her. And she’d left Harold with her mother, and Francine and Leonard too. She was going to have to apologize to all of them. She collected her cup from the windowsill and turned.

Jughead was watching her, a fringe of dark hair falling over his eyes. He flashed her a smile and she felt a coil of warmth curl deep in her stomach. Fighting back that fluttering feeling that threatened to overwhelm her with nerves, she paused in the doorway.

“Jug—“ she started to say, but his name got stuck on her tongue as her eyes met his. “Thank you.”

He shook his head, smirking at her. “Go break a leg,” he said warmly. “Or whatever I’m supposed to say. Knock ‘em dead.”

—————

Jughead watched Betty go and let out the breath he’d been holding since he reminded her of the expectations the rest of the world had for her evening. He leaned back against the wall next to the window and closed his eyes.

He’d asked Betty what they were doing, and now he turned the question in on himself. What sort of outcome was he imagining for this situation? Sure, being this close to Betty throughout the tour, anyone could see that she was chafing against the expectations that the team was holding for her. Was she going to have her fun and then forget about him, as she apparently had forgotten about whatever boyfriends she’d never once mentioned having? His life was already complicated enough, and this job was supposed to be a fresh start in his relatively convoluted situation. Becoming entangled with a celebrity was the last thing he’d been planning on doing.

He curled his hand around his overpriced latte and relaxed as he felt the heat spread through his palm. Jughead needed to figure out what he was going to do, and make his decision fast. Every time he closed his damn eyes, he saw her looking up at him. If he left them closed long enough, he could imagine the feeling of her hands around the back of his neck, or feel the warmth of her body pressed against his. Betty certainly seemed interested in him on a personal level, though last night it had felt like she’d thrown herself at him as a result of her panic. She’d come specifically to find him that afternoon. And Veronica had said—

He abruptly switched his train of thought. Harold Fry was sprinting across his mind now, his weird little suits and shining shoes immaculate as he began to put together the pieces. A guy like Fry would figure out in no time that Betty was sneaking off for a little bit too much time with the security guard, right? Or Veronica would mention something about Betty’s little crush, and Jughead would be back on the streets faster than he could say “Atwood.”

And it was so difficult to find work, with his background following him around like a ball and chain. He’d searched for months for an opening like this. Sent out probably hundreds of applications.

Jughead closed his eyes again and thought about Betty’s terrified eyes as he knelt at her side. He felt her goosebumps under his fingers.

He was nothing but honest with himself. Of course, he liked her. More than liked her, if he was really being brutal about it. He’d spent months watching the way she hesitated to take her place onstage. Jughead knew precisely the way she nibbled her bottom lip before she lifted her bass from its stand, how she always closed her eyes for a moment before she had to sing her parts. And now, after the most unreal 24 hours he’d experienced in a long time, he knew how much she hated those cardigans, the way she winced lightly as she ripped the hair tie out of her ponytail, how she tasted as he kissed her…

He ran his hand through his hair absently, knocking his beanie to the ground. Jughead reached over to retrieve it and thought about the way it had been slightly too big for her, falling down over her forehead and pushing her ears out like a fucking sylvan elf. He ate his pound cake in three bites, washing it down with a splash of espresso-saturated sugar, but even food wasn’t banishing Betty’s afternoon disguise from his mind. He’d told her that traveling in a bus of eight people wasn’t anything she needed to worry about, but it did pose certain problems for him.

At this time of day, they’d be rehearsing onstage. Jughead hadn’t gotten his chance to shower last night after Betty’s incident. He was vaguely amazed that she’d gotten as close to him as she had today, imaging that he probably smelled like day-old sweat and spilled drinks from the trench.

Jughead knocked at the door of the dressing room, waiting a moment to hear if anyone would answer. When he was met with blissful silence, he let himself inside. The bathroom appeared to be already used—more than likely, one of his bus-mates had taken the opportunity to catch an afternoon rinse. He fucking hoped it was Larry. That would be a relief for everyone.

He stepped into the bathroom and locked the door. Looking over in the mirror, he was met with his own uncertain blue eyes. Jughead dropped his hat onto the ledge of the sink and shucked off his t-shirt. When he stepped beneath the water, he let it wash over his head for a blissful moment. Without hesitation, he lowered a hand to grip himself and relaxed. A certain blonde coaxed him until he found his release, and then he let out a long breath.

What was he going to do about Betty Cooper? It had taken less than a single day for his world to turn inside-out. After he toweled off, he pulled his jeans over his hips and glanced down at the corner of his phone protruding from the pocket. Her name in his contact list flashed through his mind’s eye and he felt a pleasant jolt as the realization hit him that she’d initiated almost the entire thing. Veronica’s words swam back to him, suddenly. She _liked_ him. She liked _him_. It had been so fucking long since anyone had looked at him and seen anything other than a means to an end. And here was Betty, just leagues beyond him in every way, saying that she liked him…just _him_ , nothing else. Really, she probably knew almost next to nothing about him.

Jughead ran the towel over his head before he replaced his hat. He looked up in the mirror and regarded his reflection, distorted slightly by the steam from the shower. “Don’t let her down,” he instructed himself. Narrowing his eyes, he stared at himself and thought about how much he meant those words. If there was one thing that Jughead Jones had mastered so far in his short life, it was the art of disappointing everyone around him. With Betty, he had to be different.

—————

When Betty left Jughead in the mud room, she made a b-line for the green room. She’d burst through the door to find Trent tapping away on the coffee table, apparently lost in the beat as he listened to something on his oversized headphones. Did the man do nothing but practice?

She backed out of the room without him taking notice of her entrance. Where had Harold gone, and had her mother allowed anyone to end the video call yet? Betty needed to find out what they’d decided about her fate in her absence.

She moved swiftly down the hall, approaching the stage. Trying each closed door, she stuck her head into dressing rooms and supply closets alike in search of her manager. At the second to last door to the stage, she opened the door to an unexpected scuffle.

Betty tensed, for a moment expecting some sort of rodent-like creature to come scurrying out of the room. But as her eyes slowly began to make sense of the scene before her eyes, she felt a deeper sort of horror settle into her frame.

There was a flash of ginger hair and altogether too much skin, from what Betty’s eyes registered. Veronica’s startled eyes burned into Betty’s, perhaps one of the only sights that her mind could make sense of in the room. She slammed the door quickly closed, a yelp of surprise squeaking past her lips before she could stop herself.

A passing stage hand paused in the hallway. “Are you all right, Miss Cooper?” they asked, frowning.

Betty blinked, looking over at them. Was this one of the people that Jughead was traveling with? She couldn’t remember if she’d ever seen their face before. She nodded, still blinking, but her mouth didn’t seem capable of forming coherent words at the moment.

The stage hand gave her a long look but turned away anyway. Betty leaned back against the wall, trying to catch up with her racing thoughts. Her mind flashed back to Archie’s seventeenth birthday party, when they’d invited more than half the school to his dad’s house and gotten into the liquor cabinet. Veronica had poured the drinks, leaving Betty in the shed with Reggie as she winked and said that she’d forgotten something in the house. Betty had been too preoccupied to pay it much thought at the time, but later—when it had been time for cake—Veronica and Archie had appeared from the basement door, both looking a bit more tousled than usual. Had he let his gaze linger on Veronica longer than Betty realized that night? Since she’d been dating Reggie for the explicit purpose—

She shoved her own thought back into the dark place where she kept her worst memories hidden, tapping one hand against her leg in an effort to return to the present. How long had this been going on right next to her? Did Trent know? Did Harold?

Before any more thoughts could race through her mind, the door at her side burst open and emitted a stumbling Veronica. Betty could count on one hand the number of times she’d seen Veronica stumble in heels. Her typically poised and collected best friend looked around the hallway, caught sight of Betty, and promptly burst into tears.

“Oh my god—“ she began.

Betty shook her head. “Stop, V. Just stop.”

Veronica closed her hands around Betty’s arm, tears still pouring down her cheeks. “B, I swear—I never wanted you to find out this way—we’d been planning to tell you for _so long_ —“

That jarred her thoughts. “How long?” Betty asked, her voice dangerously low. She tilted her head and stared impassively at Veronica, waiting for the response.

The brunette blinked. “What?” she sputtered, dashing at her tears with one hand. “B, I—“

“THERE YOU ARE!” came a roar from the direction of the stage, causing both girls to jump. Betty and Veronica turned as one unit to regard Harold Fry as he marched down the hall toward them. Veronica gave Betty one panic-stricken look before turning back to Fry and rubbing her palms over her eyes. She sucked in a deep steadying breath and straightened.

Betty had the sense to look apologetic. “Sorry, Harold. The venue was out of tea, so I borrowed our security and went down the road—“ she began.

He interrupted. “Not an issue, Betty. But I have to speak with you about the idea that Francine and Alice have come up with. We have to discuss it before showtime.” Fry looked over at Veronica, a frown passing over his brow. He swiped his forehead with his handkerchief and said, “You might want to refresh your makeup, Veronica.”

She laughed lightly. “Of course, Harold,” she purred. “I’ve just been so upset about poor Betty all day.”

Harold regarded her briefly then said, “Nothing to be upset about any more, my girl. Go freshen up. There’s less than an hour until show time.”

Veronica regarded Betty for a further moment before turning and marching in the direction of the dressing room. Betty allowed Harold to lead her to a small meeting room, where she was hardly surprised to see a waiting laptop open on a little circular end table.

“Have you found her, Harold?” came the voice of Alice Cooper, a twinge of anxiety laced through her tone.

Betty settled onto the seat next to the end table and turned the computer towards herself. “Hello, mom,” she said, forcing herself to make a smile. “Sorry, the bar was out of tea.”

Alice frowned instantly. “What were you doing near a bar, Elizabeth? You’re not twenty-one until July, and you know that alcoholic beverages can ruin your figure.”

She shook her head. “No, mom…I was looking for tea,” she repeated. Finally, Betty remembered her Starbucks mug and lifted it into the line of the webcam.

Harold sat in the adjacent chair and grinned brightly at Betty. He chuckled lightly, and she immediately knew that they had big news to share with her. Harold was hardly a mirthful man, and Betty knew by now that any occasion for a Harold Fry chuckle was an occasion to remember. He’d laughed as they signed their first contracts, albeit the discomfort it had caused all three teens. She blinked and stared at him, waiting for the news.

“Now that we’re all together,” he said, as if they were one small family sitting down for the first home cooked meal they’d shared in months, “let’s tell her, Alice.”

Her mother looked at her cooly and smiled. Betty privately thought that she would never be able to master the art of curling her lips up in what was supposed to be a pleasant expression but managing to convey such disarming iciness at the same time. She felt her stomach knotting already.

“Elizabeth, dear, your manager and I have agreed that we should respond to last night’s unpleasantness with a little wardrobe adjustment. We sent out an assistant to pick up the things you’d need for the rest of the tour.”

She blinked, looking from her mother’s face to Harold’s. Were they going to suggest that she should start wearing a nun’s habit? Betty doubted that even the savviest assistant would be unable to find any higher necklines without purchasing turtlenecks. She unconsciously crossed an arm over her midsection, realizing as she did so that she was still wearing Jughead’s t-shirt. In that moment, it felt like a security blanket.

“What sort of things, mom?” she asked, her curiosity getting the better of her.

Alice’s smile brightened. “We agreed to have you represent the new winter line for Macy’s junior line,” she gushed. “The local store has donated everything you’ll need. When the tour ends, you’ll have a national campaign for their advertising department in repayment for the update.”

Betty’s frown deepened. “So…sweaters,” she said slowly. “Mom, do you have any idea how hot it gets onstage? I really can’t, this is really just so impractical—“

“Betty, they’ll sign you for a modeling contract that blows the agreement Veronica made with Nordstrom's out of the water,” Harold interrupted. “You’ll be swimming in so much money, you can buy your own sweater factory.”

She glanced over at him, narrowing her eyes. “If I was going to buy any sort of factory, I think it would manufacture bikinis,” she spat. “Mom, I’m going to faint if I wear wool onstage. Cotton cardigans are one thing—but wool—“

Alice interrupted her. “You’ll do it, Elizabeth Cooper, and that’s it. When our castle is attacked, we fortify. We keep going until the castle becomes a fortress.” She was always fond of those poetic metaphors for Betty’s life, sometimes getting so caught up in her words that she forgot it was a human being she was discussing. Betty shook her head.

“Absolutely not, mom. And you’re not here to dress me,” she snapped.

Alice filled even more of the screen, her eyes flashing at Betty’s disobedience. She leaned forward and hissed, “I’ve spent the day fielding phone calls from every relative we have, and everyone in town that knows you, about these photos that you leaked online. I don’t know what you think you were doing, or who you were messaging—“

She leaped up from the chair as if it had burned her. “What?” Betty shrieked, glaring. “You think I took those pictures myself?” she demanded.

Harold looked at her impassively, his expression blank. Alice gaped through the computer, regaining her composure first. She narrowed her eyes. “Well, didn’t you?” she demanded.

Betty pressed her lips together and felt her fingernails dig into her palms. She was shaking from head to toe. Reaching over, she slammed the lid of the laptop down with an echoing slap. Harold had the good grace not to jump when she did it. Betty turned toward him and glared.

“I’m done,” she snapped. “The next time you want to get my mother on the phone, you ask my _permission_ , Harold. I’m a fucking adult, and it’s time that everyone started treating me like one. I’ll decide what contracts I sign, I’ll decide how much money I want to make, and I’ll decide what I’m fucking wearing.”

He looked up at her calmly. As her words hung between them, he tucked his handkerchief into the inner pocket of his suit jacket. Harold licked his lips briefly before he said, “Actually, Betty, you don’t. As your manager, I decide all of those things.”

Betty shook her head. “Oh no, Harold. You work for me. I can fire you, if that’s how you want this to be.”

He still regarded her calmly. “You’re not the main face of the band, Elizabeth. It’s The Archies, not The Bettys. It takes two of you to overturn my decisions, and all three to fire me. And I’m sure that Archie and Veronica are quite pleased with the piles of money I’m gathering for _them_.”

She stood there, regarding him furiously for another moment. Still clenching her fists, she burst out of the office and stormed down the hallway. Betty shouldered a few crew members out of the way in her rage. Hardly anything today had gone right for her, had it? From the photos, to her mother, to Harold Fucking Fry…

When she burst into the green room, Veronica and Archie looked up with identical expressions of panic. Betty cast her eyes across the sofas, along the row of windows, across the fully stocked vanities, until her gaze landed on the one thing she’d been hoping to see in that moment.

On the back of a chair, really off to one side where she might have otherwise missed it, Jughead’s hat was perched as if it was waiting for her.

“Betty?” Archie said, shocked at her furious expression. Like usual, he probably thought that her rage was all for her discovery of his little secret…god, did everything have to be about Archie? Betty didn’t say anything to reassure him, walking straight across the room for that knit beanie.

She jammed it onto her head and rounded, just as an assistant arrived bearing countless bags covered in Macy’s red and white branding.

Veronica looked from the bags, to Betty, and finally to the hat. She bit her lip and looked at Archie. “Let’s give her a minute,” she said. Nudging Trent with her knee as she passed, she jerked her head toward the door. “Clear out,” Veronica snapped lightly at him, as he lifted his headphone away from his ear.

They filtered out of the room. Only then did Betty allow herself to peel her fingernails out of her palms, where they’d been doing their damnedest to become embedded. She looked over at the assistant, who was blinking in bewilderment.

“Can you find a few bandages?” she asked.

————————

When the house lights dimmed, Jughead heard the roar of the crowd begin as if a small god was toying with the master volume of the room. He leaned back against the stage briefly, glancing up and down the trench to ascertain the status of the faces that were already poised above his barrier. Without glancing back, he gauged Archie’s entrance by the way the nearby girls began to wail. Veronica’s subsequent entrance elicited another rousing cheer from the crowd, and he did look briefly over his shoulder to see the flash of her stilettos on the stage.

A few moments later, an unusual hush draped over the room. Jughead couldn’t resist turning as he saw the shock register on the faces of some of the fans. He knew, mentally, who had taken the stage, of course. Running a hand through his hatless hair, he felt his breath catch in his throat as he saw her.

Betty smiled at the crowd as she slung her bass over her shoulder. She was wearing a pair of shorts that must have come out of her bag of street clothes since they flashed more leg than anything he’d ever seen her wear onstage. His t-shirt was tied around her waist like a crop top, flashing a small strip of her smooth skin along the waistline of her shorts. But the coup de gras was the beanie perched jauntily on top of her head, and the river of blonde hair flowing out from beneath it.

As he soaked in her appearance for a moment, his eyes lingered on the bandages wrapping both her hands. Jughead recalled how she’d clenched her fists last night, how he’d felt something like a scab when he’d been holding her hand this afternoon. He wondered what she’d done to herself after he’d sent her to work.

If the crowd had hushed when she appeared, it was only because the room was drawing a collective breath before they let loose a deafening roar as one. Jughead turned back to run an eye along the trench, fighting back a flash of irritation as his first jumper of the evening launched themselves toward her feet. If he was a little bit more rough with the guy than usual, Jughead didn’t particularly notice. He glanced back up at Betty and caught a flash of unmistakable green already focused in his direction. This time, there was no doubting it. She’d been watching him, again.

With Archie’s guitar heralding the beginning of his evening battle, Jughead diverted most of his attention back to the crowd. Tonight, he’d make sure that she made it back to her bus without breaking down again. No more tears for Betty Cooper. Not on his watch.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter: Betty deals with a very stressful day, more Bughead sweetness, and a new character arrives on the scene.
> 
> **Also, I am on tumblr, though I primarily use it to re-blog pretty things. It's moon--mama. Perhaps I'll share some sneak peaks as I'm editing future chapters? :)


	4. Mommy Dearest

When they trooped off stage and waited to return for the encore, Archie caught Betty in his arms and spun her around. 

“Holy shit, Betty, you were so confident tonight!” he exclaimed. She couldn’t help smiling broadly down at him, laughing as she regained her footing. For the moment, the discovery she’d made in the afternoon was forgotten. Betty beamed at her two best friends in the world, reaching up a little sub-consciously to adjust Jughead’s hat.

She looked over at Veronica, who seemed to also be caught in the infectious smile. Reaching out and catching one of Betty’ hands in hers, she said, “I’m so glad for you, B.”

If only Veronica knew the half of it, Betty thought. She still hadn’t had the opportunity to say anything to her friends about Jughead—there had been no time. Betty looked back at the stage, then. Jughead was just swiping his forearm across his forehead after lifting a man who appeared to be double his own weight over the barrier. She saw the venue security leading him away, and the fan went wild as he caught sight of her. The poor guy probably thought she’d been looking at him.

Jughead glanced back too, like he could feel her eyes on him. But then he ducked out of sight momentarily and re-surfaced with water for the young girls that were clinging to the center of the barrier and wailing their lungs out.

Archie glanced over in that direction, too, when he saw Betty’s expression. He nodded to Trent and Veronica , then said, “It’s about time, let’s go back out there.”

When they re-emerged, the crowd went wild. Betty slung her bass over her shoulder and glanced at Trent, who flashed her a wink. As her fingers found their place on the strings, Archie started to sing.

———————

Jughead was somehow boiling more than usual in the trench. He figured that lending his beanie to Betty would make him less sweaty, if anything, not feeling like he’d jumped into a swamp. Maybe it was just this venue’s poor air circulation, or something. The fans had been dropping like flies along the front lines, too. He’d definitely gotten his upper body workout for the evening. So many had been removed by paramedics he had lost count early on in the band’s second set.

So Toledo wasn’t the best venue they’d been in on this tour. Cincinnati hadn’t been bad, so he’d call Ohio a draw. By tomorrow morning they’d be in Cleveland, and Jughead was hoping to get a peek at Lake Erie during the day. As a guy who lived for the next horror/mystery/dystopian novel he could get his hands on, he wasn’t passing up a chance to see a body of water named _eerie_.

He was starting to knock around the idea of asking Betty if she’d like to catch an Uber and go with him, but he wasn’t sure how she’d take it. Things were still so new between them—fuck, had it really been less than a day?—and he didn’t want her to think that he was becoming too attached. Even though Veronica said that Betty liked him, he was under no illusions about his situation. Jughead knew his place in the world, unlike his old man. And that had gotten his dad nothing but pain and trouble. Until he knew more about Betty’s feelings, he wasn’t going to let himself think of this as anything. Hell, this afternoon she’d almost panicked when he asked her what they were doing. If she wasn’t ready to call it anything, then he wasn’t going to, either.

He glanced over at her in the wings, catching a glimpse of Archie’s hands around her waist as she caught her balance. Add that complication to the mix, Jughead thought wryly. Fighting back an inner burst of what felt suspiciously like jealousy, he ducked down and grabbed some water for the kids that were screaming, “ARCHIEEEE!!!” in unison at the top of their lungs. The smaller, dark-haired one looked like she was about to faint.

The band returned to the stage for their encore. Jughead suspected that he’d be able to sing this song on his deathbed at this point. There was only so many times you were able to hear a song before absorbing it into your DNA. Since it was playing constantly on commercials, TV shows, and radios, he heard it at least twice a day (counting every encore). He unconsciously mouthed the words, darting along the edge of the stage to catch a crowd-surfer before they tumbled into the trench. Helping the kid to her feet, he nodded to the security guard that appeared to lead her into the wings. Jughead straightened, looking over in time to see Archie leaning across the trench with the mic stand as the fans strained to touch him.

If a girl managed to graze her fingers along the edge of his unbuttoned flannel, she should consider herself lucky. Jughead was usually there to prevent the fans from getting too close, but he’d needed to be in too many places at once tonight. Brushing his arm over his head to wipe away the sweat before it got into his eyes, he breathed an inner sigh of relief as he heard the band strike the final cord.

The house lights came up within moments after The Archies left the stage. Jughead narrowed his eyes as they adjusted and walked along the trench, making sure that no one was going to climb over and get backstage. He was itching to get back there himself and take up his post outside the dressing room. After what happened the night before, he didn’t want to leave Betty in the hands of the venue security any longer than he needed to.

Plus, he needed to get his hat back.

\-------------

As soon as they reached the dressing room, Betty went straight for the bathroom. She clicked the lock behind herself and leaned back against the door, taking a deep breath. Her reflection stared back at her, Jughead’s shirt still knotted over her midriff, his hat perched atop her head. She allowed herself a private smile, thinking of her mother’s reaction when Alice saw the photos the fans would undoubtedly leak online. What Macy’s contract?

She’d never been in this business for the money, anyway. What had begun as Archie’s innocuous request for her help, and Betty’s half-baked plan to get him to notice her, spun her life in a direction that she’d never imagined for herself. As a kid, she’d always thought that she would end up going to college, starting a career, finding someone to marry and start a family. She’d never dreamed of being famous…it had happened accidentally.

Her mother was the one constantly pushing her to do more, make more of a statement, become a fashion icon, start a modeling career to supplement her time onstage. Alice thought that Betty’s time with The Archies was limited. Whether she was wrong or right, Betty didn’t care. She was tired of letting her mother decide what she would do with her life. In a few months, she would be 21. Betty privately hoped that Alice would get the message she’d wanted to send tonight--she wasn’t willing to play along any more.

She stripped off the t-shirt and carefully draped it over the edge of the sink. Tomorrow, she’d make sure it got washed before it was returned to Jughead. It couldn’t be easy getting clean laundry on the bus. She wondered if the crew member responsible for washing her clothes was doing laundry for the entire group.

Betty stepped into the warm water of the shower and washed quickly. Every sound she heard from the dressing room made her jump. She scrubbed the soap off her skin and ran her fingers through her hair one last time to check for leftover conditioner. Killing the water with the knob, she quickly toweled off and slipped into a pair of soft athletic shorts and one of her own t-shirts.

She looked at herself in the mirror and finally allowed herself a moment to process what she’d found out earlier. Veronica hadn’t gotten the opportunity to answer Betty’s question, but she felt like she needed to know. Had they been involved since high school? Or was this something newer that had developed during the tour?

For that matter, was it the sort of thing that she was willing to end their friendships over? They were stuck together for the time being, at least. They’d signed contracts and begun their careers together, and Betty wasn’t willing to walk away from the band just yet. She couldn’t imagine what else she would do with her life. Would she move home? She thought that was probably what her mother would expect her to do. This wasn’t the sort of betrayal that she was willing to upset their entire lives over, she decided. She wouldn’t do that to herself, or to Veronica and Archie. She couldn’t imagine her life without the two of them in it, anyway.

She wasn’t happy that they’d kept it from her, though. Betty felt like the largest issue she had with the situation was the lack of trust they’d given her. Veronica and Archie knew most of her deepest secrets, between one another. For that matter, Veronica knew exactly how Betty had always felt about Archie, and she’d allowed herself to become involved with him anyway. She didn’t think of him that way anymore, but was the principle of the thing enough to hold a grudge?

Betty decided that she was thinking about it too much. Like earlier, when she’d allowed herself to kiss Jughead, she was just going to put her body on autopilot and go with her gut reactions. 

She ran her brush through her hair and took another breath. Hopefully she would be able to catch a minute alone with Jughead before they were on the road again tonight. She had to thank him for leaving his hat, after all. Picking it up, along with his shirt, she opened the door of the bathroom and went out to face her friends.

Trent breezed by almost immediately, shutting the door so quickly that Betty felt the air hit her back. She jumped a bit at the sudden noise, then looked sheepishly over at Archie and Veronica.

They were sitting next to each other on the couch, conspicuously maintaining a church-appropriate distance between one another. Both looked at her with a mixture of grim apprehension, probably expecting that she would have some sort of breakdown. Betty casually crossed the room and picked up some celery from the catering tray on the table, crunching nonchalantly as she sank into an armchair across from them. Veronica and Archie looked at her, maintaining their silence. So they were waiting to see what she had to say.

“How long?” she finally asked, looking at Veronica.

Her friend jumped like she’d been slapped. She glanced over at Archie, then wrung her hands tightly together. Veronica cleared her throat. “Oh, um...I think it’s been a little more than two years, now,” she admitted.

Archie nodded and added eagerly, “Yeah, Betty, and we wanted to tell you the whole time.”

Seemingly uncorked now that the subject had been broached, Veronica interjected, “Well, at first we were afraid of how you’d react. But then we realized that you didn’t care...as much as we thought you would…” she seemed to edit her statement as she spoke, though Betty could hear the unspoken _as much about Archie_ as clearly as if she’d said it, “and so we decided to tell you.”

Betty just raised an eyebrow and took another bite of celery.

Seeing her lack of reaction, Archie ran a hand through his hair and leaned forward. He gestured with both hands as he said, “By then, we’d signed that stupid contract with Harold and we thought that we couldn’t tell you.”

That sparked Betty’s interest. “Why not?” she asked, frowning.

Veronica and Archie exchanged a look. “Well, we weren’t totally sure how you would take it. We thought you might go to Harold, if you were upset.”

She felt something unpleasant roiling within her at that revelation. So they hadn’t told her because they weren’t sure if they could trust her. That was really what Archie meant. After she’d grown up with him, after she’d done everything she could to win his heart when they were kids, after she’d essentially agreed to contractually give her life up so that she could be a part of his band--he didn’t _trust_ her.

Betty looked away from them both. She took another bite of celery to keep herself from saying anything stupid. At that moment, she wished she were anywhere else but this dressing room in Ohio. Betty wanted to be as far from Archie and Veronica as possible for a few hours--sort out her thoughts, maybe decide how she was going to find a way to forgive them. She couldn’t handle any more of this tonight.

Veronica and Archie were still staring at her. After Betty’s continued silence, Veronica rose from her place on the couch and moved quietly to kneel in front of Betty’s knees. She put her hands on the arm of the chair and looked up, meeting Betty’s eyes. 

“Please, B. Say something,” she pleaded.

Betty looked up at the ceiling for a moment, thinking over what she could possibly say. She wasn’t angry—not really, when she was honest about it. But she was hurt, and anxious, that her friends hadn’t trusted her. She bit her bottom lip while she thought.

“I wish you’d told me,” she said quietly, looking over at Archie. He didn’t meet her eyes. With that, Betty pushed herself out of the chair.

“Betty?” Archie said, standing up.

Veronica jumped to her feet, too. She took a few steps after Betty like she was going to stop her.

Betty paused, reaching for the door. “Relax,” she said, glancing over her shoulder. “I’m not going to tell Harold.”

With that, she left.

———————

When Jughead got backstage, there was already a small group of people about his age that were trying to move undetected through the halls. He watched them from a distance, counting eight bodies in total. Their major mistake was moving as one unit, since that clearly indicated that they did not belong. Two of the girls conferred with a tall, lanky boy about which direction they should try. Jughead crossed his arms and waited for them to make a decision.

They turned toward him—and, he knew, the dressing room. He leaned against the wall and watched their approach.

“—Who’s—“ one of the girls whispered, noticing him.

Jughead straightened, letting his arms fall to his sides. He flashed his most intimidating glare. “Security,” he said shortly. “Let’s get you outside where you belong.”

One of the guys looked at him as if he was sizing up whether or not they could take him. Jughead didn’t move, staring back and recalling a time that he’d stood in the middle of a circle of twice their number and allowed himself to take a beating. Whatever these kids threw at him, he wasn’t going to go down.

“—Eight to one—“ the shorter guy whispered, glancing over at his tall friend. They were the only males in the group.

“I’ve already called the police,” Jughead commented dryly. “What you’re doing is considered trespassing.”

That got their attention. Two of the girls looked ready to bolt at his words, grabbing their friends and pulling them the other way down the hall. The tall boy gave Jughead a long, hard stare, but finally relented. He must not have seen anything indicating that it was a bluff.

Thankfully, they turned and walked away. Jughead followed them at a distance until he saw them out the back door, then he pulled it closed behind the last one. He wouldn’t have minded fighting them, if it came to that, but Harold paid him the big money to make sure that the fans were taken care of _safely_. Jughead ran his hand through his hair after he saw them leave, still feeling a little incomplete without his hat. He sighed and turned back to the building, ignoring the cluster of fans who were standing outside the busses. The venue security would clear them out by the time the band was ready to leave.

He returned to his post outside the dressing room door and leaned back against the wall again. Jughead closed his eyes briefly and wondered what Betty was doing. This was the part of his evening where his mind tended to wander, without anything else to focus on. He didn’t have a long time to consider things, though, because the door opened unexpectedly next to him. Out came the object of his thoughts, like he’d summoned her.

Betty looked over at him and immediately smiled. She glanced over her shoulder as she shut the door, and Jughead got the briefest flash of ginger hair when he looked in the same direction. 

Looking back and forth down the hallway, she stretched up on her tip-toes and kissed his cheek. Jughead immediately put space between them, frowning. “Betty—“

She shook her head. “I know. But I just can’t, tonight.”

Jughead glanced back at the door. “Did something happen?” he asked, concerned. He hadn’t heard anything unusual in there, and if there was another intruder then Archie or Veronica would have said something. Betty was already shaking her head, interrupting his thoughts.

She leaned back against the closed door, looking down at her feet. A moment later, she was wiping her palms over her eyes. When he saw her shoulders shaking, Jughead threw caution to the wind and put his arm around her. “Hey, what’s going on?” he asked, frowning.

Betty sniffed and looked up. “Can we go somewhere and talk?” she asked. Then, a little miserably, she added, “Don’t want to get caught.”

Jughead nodded, mentally running over the rooms he’d passed by that afternoon. The bus would be out right now, since everyone would be working overtime to pack up for their next move. He also vaguely considered the fact that Harold Fry was likely already on a plane back to LA, but didn’t mention that to Betty.

He led her to a small dressing room—probably a space designated for one of the lesser actors of stage productions, like Mercutio as opposed to Romeo. Flipping the light switch up, he glanced around. He didn’t waste time inspecting the paltry furnishings of the room, though, because Betty was still quietly crying. Jughead pulled her to him and softly shut the door.

“Now can you tell me who I need to kill?” he asked, trying to make her laugh. It worked, thankfully. She sniffed again and wiped at her tears, smiling up at him.

“It was just a shitty day,” she commented. Betty leaned against him, and he wondered if she realized that she was even doing it. She looked lost in thought for a moment, her bottom lip disappearing as she considered whatever was weighing on her mind. Jughead wanted to tell her that it hadn’t really been a joke, that he’d really deliver a beating to whoever had distressed her to tears. But he settled for running his fingers over her back instead, giving her time to process her thoughts.

He was still acutely aware that he’d been in the front lines of the concert and he’d yet to shower—he noticed Betty’s damp hair, and realized that she’d probably gone straight to the dressing room after leaving the stage. Had something happened with one of her fellow band members?

She let out a long breath and looked up at him. Her green eyes were finally clear, though they were still ringed with pink from her tears. “My life is really a mess, Jughead,” she said, and her voice was tinged with sadness. “I don’t really have anyone else to talk to about this, and I’m sorry. You don’t deserve to get burdened with my problems.”

He relaxed a bit. So she was worrying about unloading her worries on him, even though she was clearly distressed. Jughead raised a hand and tilted her chin up so that he could kiss her, his eyes drifting shut as he tasted her unique softness. He couldn’t believe how good she was. The more he found out about Betty Cooper, the more he realized that she was the sort of girl he’d do anything for.

“I’m here, Betty. Tell me anything. I don’t really have anyone to talk to, either, so your secrets are safe with me,” he said softly, his sardonic statement making her lips twitch into a smile again.

She sighed once more before she spoke. “My mom’s going to kill me,” she said. “And I feel like I’m too old to care. I’m an adult,” she said, saying the words as if they were meant to convince herself as much as they were meant to enlighten him. “Do you ever wish your parents would just leave you alone?” she asked innocently, meeting his eyes once again.

Jughead tried his best not to let his reaction show, but the flicker of recognition in Betty’s eyes told him he’d failed. Before she could say anything else, he quipped, “They always have, actually. So I can’t say that I have the same problem.”

Betty’s hands spread onto his chest as her eyes looked him over with ever-pooling pity. She bit her lip again before she breathed, “I’m so sorry, I didn’t know.”

Jughead shrugged casually, not wanting to see her upset on his behalf. “I’ll tell you about it some other time,” he said, not really meaning it. “What is your mom mad about?” he hoped she’d just let it go, trying to bring the conversation back to the problems that she had originally wanted to talk about.

Thankfully, she went with him. “She tried to set me up with another modeling contract, for a winter line. I was supposed to wear sweaters for the rest of the tour.”

He laughed lightly, not at the absurdity of the predicament, but the absurdity of the mandate. Wiping the back of his wrist over his brow to clear away any last vestiges of the evening’s battle, he said, “Your mom must not be familiar with stage performances, Betty.”

She shook her head. “No, she’s not. And so that’s why—earlier, when I saw your hat—oh, and thank you—I decided that I wasn’t going to do it.”

Through her fragmented sentence, she stepped slightly back and produced his hat. Holding it out, she smiled lightly as he took it. Jughead deftly replaced it on his own head, smiling back at her. “I was just trying to give myself a reason to see you again tonight,” he said honestly, smirking. “I didn’t know you liked it so much.”

Betty slid her arms around him again. “I liked it because it made me think of you,” she admitted. “And after everything that happened this afternoon, I just wanted to do something for myself for once.”

Looking down at the girl in his arms, he found himself thinking about telling her something he’d never told anyone—not his dad, not his friends…not even the girlfriends he’d had during high school. But he could tell that Betty was placing her trust in him by sharing the things that she was worried about. She was looking at him with a glimmer in her eyes that was different from the way anyone had ever looked at him in his life. He wanted to have enough time with her to figure out what it was. This job had been a fresh start for him, after all. Time to open the bottles he’d kept corked all these years. He said, “My mom gave me that hat, before she left.”

—————

Betty registered what Jughead said and felt the air get trapped somewhere in the region of her diaphragm. Her earlier words seemed utterly childish, now. In that short sentence, she was able to unpack so much extremely personal information about the man whose arms were around her. His mom had left him at some point, he’d kept the last gift she’d given him, Betty hardly saw him without it on his head—and he’d let her wear it this afternoon when they went out, and then she’d sort of stolen it during the concert. She suddenly realized that she was blinking back tears again—but this time, the overwhelming feeling of finally having someone put some _trust_ in her was forcing her emotions through her eyes.

She reached up and stroked a lock of hair away from his forehead, letting her fingers trail along the knit edge of the beanie. “Thank you for letting me borrow it,” she said softly. Betty was unable to stop herself from biting her lip as she worried that maybe Jughead had been bothered that she wore it onstage without asking. She realized that he might think that the thing between them was a matter of convenience for her, and what a horrible leap of faith it was that he’d revealed such personal information. In the two months of the tour before they’d started talking, she’d hardly seen him speak to anyone, let alone say anything personal. She had gotten the impression that he was a very private person.

Jughead raised one shoulder and smiled a bit. “I’m surprised you wore it onstage,” he said simply. “Is that why you think your mom will be upset?”

Betty sighed as the topic returned to Alice. She felt the weight of the issues she had with her mother like a tangible press on her shoulders, shifting uncomfortably as it curled into a knot at the base of her neck. “My mom…” she paused, not wanting to sound like she was whining. Speaking in a level tone, she continued, “She just doesn’t care what I think,” she said. “On some level, she wants what’s best for me, I’m pretty sure.”

He nodded, tentatively carding his fingers through her hair. Betty leaned into the touch, closing her eyes momentarily. “She’ll get over it,” he said reassuringly. Pulling her a bit, he said, “Come here, you need to relax.”

They settled onto a small love seat opposite the room’s lonely vanity. As Betty curled against Jughead’s side, she couldn’t help noticing how she seemed to fit perfectly below the arm he wrapped around her shoulders. She nestled her head into the hollow of his shoulder, her cheek on his collar as she looked up at him. Jughead reached his other arm around her and simply held her. For a few minutes, they soaked in one another’s warmth while Betty silently willed the tension to leave her body. It was easier than she expected, with Jughead’s arms around her. In a way, it felt more difficult to remain tense. Something about him just made her feel safe.

She felt so relaxed, in fact, that the enormity of the experiences she’d had over the past 24 hours seemed to finally catch up with her in the form of exhaustion. Betty felt her eyes drifting closed. She realized vaguely that every time she blinked, more and more time was passing. Jughead leaned his cheek against the top of her head and closed his eyes as well.

Some small voice told her that she needed to wake up and get on the bus. But she banished the thought—there was no where she wanted to be other than with him.

For punctual, perfect, good-girl Betty Cooper, that disregard was an entirely new emotion.

——————

Jughead let her fall asleep. She’d been through a lot, and he got the impression that she needed it. He hadn’t simply held a girl like this in a long time, when he thought about it. Sure, he’d had a few girlfriends in high school, but it was never anything too serious. Some were only interested in him because of his status in the gang, anyway. Being the son of the leader, people got the impression that favor with Jughead meant favor with his dad, too. Eventually they all realized how wrong they were.

He idly ran his hand over Betty’s hair, leaning his cheek on the top of her head. Jughead thought about what she’d told him, and the memories her worries subsequently dredged up in his own mind. He’d been young when his mother left, but he could still remember what she looked like (he thought). It had been years since he’d seen even a photo of her—his dad must have gotten rid of them, because surely they would have taken her picture at least once in the time they’d been together and produced two children. He couldn’t remember if she’d ever fought with him about anything. They must have fought at some point, since she’d chosen to leave him behind and disappeared with his baby sister.

Jughead didn’t like to dwell on his history. It put him in a sour mood that he’d struggle for days to scour out of his mind. When he’d left, he’d promised himself to put all of those things behind him and make a fresh start.

He wasn’t running away. Not really.

He might not be able to empathize with Betty’s problems, but he was able to imagine her feelings. What was the saying? A reader lives a thousand lives within a thousand covers? He couldn’t remember the exact phrase, but the sentiment was true. Like Hamlet and his doomed mother, Gertrude, disagreements between parents could eat away at people until they did and said things they’d never rationally consider. He wondered if Betty’s little rebellion was going to push her mother into some sort of equally ill-advised retaliation.

Betty shifted, her brows coming together as she turned her head toward him. Jughead pressed his lips lightly against her forehead, thinking regretfully that he wouldn’t mind holding her on this couch the rest of the night. The crew would be finishing the last of their packing by now, though, and soon people would come looking directly for her.

“Betts,” he whispered, letting the nickname slip without realizing it.

Her lips curled upward, but she still didn’t open her eyes. “You can call me that all the time,” she whispered back. “If I pretend I’m still sleeping, will you keep holding me?”

Jughead smiled at her words, glad that she was enjoying their time together as much as he was. But he was obligated to say, “There’s a bed on a bus that’s got your name on it.”

She frowned, cracking one eye open to look at him in disappointment. “My name isn’t really on it,” she protested. “But fine, I’ll go if you’re insisting.”

He groaned. “I don’t want to let you go, either. Oh—your phone is buzzing.”

Betty sat up suddenly and slid her phone out of her pocket. Jughead glanced down at the screen and saw a photo of an older Betty flashing below the caller ID, with the name “Mom” printed in white sans serif across the top. Betty glanced over at him with an expression of pale terror.

He reached over and pressed the lock button, sending the call to voicemail. Betty didn’t make any move to stop him. In fact, she looked somewhat relieved that he’d intervened.

Jughead slipped his fingers along the ridge of her cheek, looking into her eyes before he kissed her. It wasn’t as hungry or wild as some of the kisses they’d shared earlier in the afternoon, but it might have communicated more passion and intensity than all the rest. He gently probed her lip with his tongue, slowly making his way into the velvet warmth of her mouth. Betty was just starting to fully relax into him when her phone buzzed again.

“Don’t answer it,” he said, his lips still against hers.

She hesitated but glanced down. Then she straightened and turned away in one quick motion, answering the call.

“Sorry—no, I’m fine—I’ll be right there—okay, V—really, I’m not mad, I’ll talk to you in a minute,” she said, obviously speaking with a concerned Veronica.

Jughead sighed. It looked like their moment of privacy was over. He rose from the love seat and turned, holding out a hand for Betty. When she ended the call, she looked up and smiled faintly as she let him pull her up from her seat.

“I’m here for you, whenever you need me,” he promised, squeezing her hand a bit before he released it. The irony of the words didn’t escape him—Jughead may have been there for many people in his life, but they were rarely able to return him the favor. But he had a growing feeling that whatever was happening between himself and Betty was more than just a crush. He’d noticed the way she was looking at him.

Betty gave him one last kiss and said, “Thank you, Jug.”

——————

_B: can’t sleep, are you awake?_

**J: Yes.**

**J: Do you need a bedtime story?**

_B: YES_

_B: sorry, got excited lol_

_B: yes please_

**J: I’m not the best story teller b, so I’m already sorry for this.**

**J: A long time ago, in a place that’s far away…**

**J: There was a princess.**

_B: you’re already the best_

**J: She was in trouble with her dad,**

**J: because she did something that he didn’t like.**

**J: He tried to come after her, but she stood her ground.**

**J: He even wrecked her world,**

**J: but a roguishly handsome guy and his pet bear rescued her.**

_B: is this that movie_

_B: omg it is_

**J: You’re interrupting.**

_B: what is it_

**J: Let me finish.**

_B: it’s that really dorky movie that archie likes_

_B: STAR WARS_

_B: omg he made me watch it years ago_

**J: Dorky?**

_B: v and I fell asleep_

**J: B, it’s a classic science fiction film. It established so many tropes in its genre.**

_B: you and archie can have a movie night_

_B: he’ll be so happy_

**J: He has good taste.**

_B: it was the worst_

_B: what other types of movies do you like?_

**J: All the classics. The 80s were a second golden age for Hollywood.**

_B: like the goonies_

**J: Yes! And Lost Boys or Pulp Fiction.**

_B: i’ve never seen that_

**J: Which one?**

_B: both_

**J: Okay, so we have to watch them.**

_B: it’s a date_

**J: Perfect! I’ll start conserving my data for our Netflix night.**

_B: hey about earlier_

_B: before I decide not to say it_

_B: I like you. a lot._

**J: ;)**

**J: It's been a while since I did this. So I'm sorry, if things are going too fast or too slow, tell me please.**

_B: too slow_

**J: Okay...**

**J: I like LIKE you, how's that?**

_B: lol_

_B: I like LIKE you too jug_

**J: So tomorrow I'll add another one and we will officially be in the fourth grade again.**

_B: lol_

_B: omg V is staring at me because you made me giggle irl at my phone_

_B: I can't wait for tomorrow jug_

_B: [3 heart emojis]_

**J: [kiss emoji] Me too. Sweet dreams, Betty.**

————— 

When Betty opened her eyes, her first thought was that her back ached—probably from the uncomfortably small mattress on the tour bus. Her second conscious recognition was that someone was standing next to the curtain beside her bed. Granted, a tour bus was hardly a private place, but this was a blatant disregard of her privacy. The figure had pulled aside the curtain separating her bed from the next, allowing sunlight to stream onto her pillow and by proxy, her face. She quickly closed her eyes as she registered these facts.

When she opened them again, her initial sight was confirmed. Trent was watching her, his expression as passive as if he were looking at an exhibit in a zoo. Betty wondered how long he had been standing there, and uncomfortably thought that it was longer than she liked. Actually, any time that he had been watching her was longer than she would have liked. When he saw that she was looking back at him, his face split into his customary crooked smile.

“Morning, B. Harold sent us catering for breakfast. It’s in the venue. I came to get you before it gets cold.”

As uncomfortable as his staring might have been, at least he had a somewhat reasonable excuse for being there. Betty smiled weakly back.

“Thanks,” she mumbled, her voice cracking with sleep. 

Trent stood there another uncomfortable minute. Betty was just starting to form some statement about needing to get changed when he abruptly turned, sliding the curtain shut behind himself. She heard his footsteps trail down the floor of the bus, followed by the sweep of the door.

She yawned and stretched, her hands bumping into the wall of the bus over her head. Her toes hung off the end of the small mattress, reaching for the opposite wall. Betty laid there and looked up at the ceiling for a moment, trying to gather enough mental energy to get herself up and face another day in her bizarre life. She found her phone under the side of her pillow and disengaged it from the charger, unable to stop a genuine smile from spreading over her face as she checked her messages from the night before.

Whatever she was doing with Jughead, she had to admit that it came with a warm feeling of contentment she had yet to feel about any other aspect of her life. Even when she’d been dating Reggie, it had been because she wanted to make Archie jealous, at first. The relationship had grown into one of semi-fondness, but she’d hardly batted an eyelash when she’d said her final goodbyes before leaving her hometown for the west coast recording studio that had kicked off her career. Honestly, the few hours she’d spent with Jughead had been the first thing she’d chosen to do purely for herself in as long as she could remember, and it felt good to admit it to herself. She sent him a quick good morning text, wondering if he was a late morning person too.

Her phone didn’t immediately buzz in response. Betty lay there a few more moments before she admonished herself for being silly. He was probably still sleeping, or he’d gone inside already in search of food. She flipped her blanket away with effort, wincing as the chill of the morning air slapped against her skin.

Fully awake now, she got out of bed and rummaged through her bag for clothes. Slipping into a pair of soft grey shorts and a pale orange shirt the color of a creamsicle milkshake, she ran her brush through her hair and smoothed it into a ponytail. Betty grabbed her small cosmetic bag and slid the curtain aside. Next to the beds in the bus was a small vanity, with a fixed stool in front of a narrow mirror. She saw Veronica’s bag open on the counter already and set hers next to it. Brushing mascara over her eyelashes and quickly applying a layer of primer over her face, she fished her liquid foundation out of her bag. Once she was satisfied with her makeup, Betty rose from the stool and found her flip flops.

The side door of the venue was propped with a brick. She walked up the few concrete steps and let herself inside. Her brief moment in the sunlight on the sidewalk wasn’t enough to let her eyes fully adjust from the dimness of the bus, so she blinked in relief when she stepped into the dim hallway.

She made her way into the belly of the building’s interior, glancing around and looking for the green room amidst the myriad unused dressing rooms that lined the halls. Finally she heard the sound of several voices. Following the chatter through the hall, Betty began to smell breakfast before she found it.

Some local restaurant had brought eggs, bacon, sausage, muffins, fresh bread, and all the condiments one might wish to have along with them. 

Archie, Veronica, and Trent were seated around a small table with paper plates already dished. Some of their stage crew were also picking through the catering. Betty thankfully spotted Jughead’s knit-covered head over the back of a couch facing the windows. She picked up a piece of bread from the tray and poured herself a cup of coffee. 

Betty met Jughead’s eyes as she walked by. She purposely went the long way across the room, circling in front of the windows, just so that she could get a look at him. He brightened when their eyes locked, raising his cup of coffee to hide the appreciative smile she brought to his face.

She settled into a chair next to Veronica, who looked over with apprehension painted on every inch of her features. “Morning,” said Betty, flashing her a small smile.

Veronica visibly relaxed and brightened at the same time. It was like watching the sun break through on a cloudy day. She replied, “Good morning, Bettykins! We were worried when you weren’t on the bus last night.”

Archie looked up and said nonchalantly, “Yeah, B, where did you go?”

Before she could say anything, the door of the green room opened. Her band mates looked over at the door—somewhat automatically—and Betty recognized the looks of horror spreading across Archie and Veronica’s faces. Feeling her stomach knot, she turned and looked over her shoulder.

Her mother was standing in the doorway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter: some breaking news causes trouble for the core four, Betty deals with the arrival of her visitor, and bughead's ship finally (officially) sets sail.


	5. Bad News

Alice Cooper stalked into the room like a little empress, her eyes flashing as she sought out her wayward daughter. Wearing an expression like a thunderclap, her eyes found their prize and she cut swiftly across the room. 

“Betty,” she said, her voice terse.

“Mom?” Betty said, shocked. She must have driven all night to arrive in Cleveland so quickly—or she’d flown. Betty imagined her perched astride a broomstick, black cloak billowing as she swooped down from the sky like a bird of prey. Her stomach was already churning as she quickly deduced the reason for her mom’s sudden visit.

Alice glanced around the table at her companions. Schooling her face partially into something that resembled a pleasant expression, she said, “Hello, Archie, Veronica, Trent.”

They mumbled their hellos, looking from Alice to Betty, then to their plates. In the years they’d been together, everyone had gotten their fair share of Alice Cooper, whether they’d wanted her career advice or not. Betty much preferred the route that Fred Andrews had taken in supporting the band—he was hands-down their number one fan, fiercely proud of their work, and fully willing to let Archie make his own mistakes.

Mary Andrews was a bit more hands-on by comparison, acting as their legal counsel whenever it was required, but she struck a similar balance between empty nesting and supportive intervention. Then again, she’d left when Archie was sixteen and moved to Chicago, so she’d had more time to adjust.

Betty thought that maybe her mother’s overbearing interference in her life was a symptom of having her youngest child move out of the house. Since her sister had eloped with her high school sweetheart before completing her senior year, Betty’s Mom had sunk her claws even tighter into Betty’s life—forming an unrelenting chokehold. She sighed heavily, putting down her coffee.

“What brings you to Ohio, Mom?” She asked, her voice only shaking slightly.

Alice clicked her tongue, irritation flashing across her countenance. She pressed her lips together before saying tightly, “Let’s speak in private about that, Elizabeth.”

Much as she hated hearing her full name, particularly when her mother was irritated with her, Betty was glad sometimes that Alice had the habit of calling her that when she was angry. It allowed her to imagine that Elizabeth was a different disappointing or frustrating daughter.

She rose from her chair, not failing to notice the flash of curious blue eyes following her from beneath a dark curl by the windows. Betty glanced over Jughead and wished fervently that she could curl up on his lap with her coffee in hand, watching the city awaken. She hoped that one day, at least, it would be possible. It was difficult to imagine a more relaxing or pleasant morning. By contrast, her present morning was descending swiftly into the realm of nightmares. Hopefully this encounter with her mother wouldn’t take too long...but Betty was realistic enough to admit to herself that she was unlikely to be so lucky.

Alice lead her into the neighboring dressing room and closed the door. When she turned back to Betty, her face was curled into a formidable scowl.

“Elizabeth Cooper,” she hissed. “Do you have any idea how many meetings I sat through on your behalf to organize that contract with Macy’s? Your father and I discussed your situation with Father Lewis, and he recommended—“

“Jesus, mother, you mean that a priest told you that I needed to cover myself up on stage, so you organized a sweater drive?” She interrupted, unable to stop herself from raising her voice. She'd known Father Lewis all her life, but he hardly constituted what she would consider adequate professional advice for a pop musician. Surely even her mother could recognize that.

Her mom stepped toward her, and for an insane moment Betty thought that she was going to get smacked. She tried to think back to the conviction she’d had when she put on Jughead’s hat the night before. It was difficult, when deep inside she was still five years old and wanting nothing more than to receive her mother's praise. She’d sworn to herself that she was done letting her mother dictate her life—and she meant it. Betty might have been trembling on the inside, but she pushed her shoulders back and maintained eye contact as her mother approached.

Alice spoke, her voice shaking, in a low and even tone. The one she reserved for Betty's worst transgressions. “We are only doing what’s best for you, because we love you. Someone has to think about your career.”

Betty shook her head. “That’s me, Mom. Let me worry about it. It’s my life.”

Her mother looked like she was either on the verge of an outburst or a breakdown. Betty watched her warily. It wasn’t the first time they’d reached this point in what was usually a verbal battle that Betty lost. Today, though, was going to be different. She'd made a promise to herself.

“You say that, yet you consistently demonstrate that you’re incapable of making mature decisions. What was that you decided to wear instead, Elizabeth? In the pictures, it looked like a trash bag you tied around your middle. Is that the sort of image you want to project for your fans?”

Betty shook her head. “If they’re going to break into the bathroom while I’m showering, then maybe, Mom!”

Alice narrowed her eyes and replied, “What was Harold Fry’s security person doing when that happened? Sleeping? I already spoke with him about firing the person responsible for letting this happen, Elizabeth. He’s already working on contacting a company for the whole band. You need to have professionals protecting you.”

Something ugly shifted within her as she realized that her mother was talking about Jughead—about having _him_ fired. She clenched her hands at her sides, already feeling her fingers digging into the scabs she’d formed yesterday. A beastly anger was swirling within her as she realized that her mother was threatening the one person who had brought her any semblance of true happiness in so many years. Betty couldn't honestly recall a time when she'd been more at peace with the world since she'd stopped believing in Santa and the Easter bunny. Something about Jughead made her feel so safe--so loved--in a way that she'd been desperately lacking for as long as she could remember. Betty wasn't going to let anything take him away from her, not so soon, not before they'd had a chance to nurture what was forming between them into something beautiful and fragile and huge. Pressing her eyes closed for a moment, she gathered her thoughts. When she responded to her mother she tried to speak as calmly as possible.

“Get out,” she said. Alice looked like she hadn’t heard her. She blinked, her mouth opening slightly. Betty frowned deeply, matching her mother’s scowl. “I want you back in a car to New York right now. I’m a legal adult. You have no control over me. Speak to my manager again, and I’ll file for a restraining order.”

Her mother glared outright. “Elizabeth—“

“No, mom, I mean it,” she snapped, interrupting. “From now on, I will negotiate my own contracts. I’ll ask Mary Andrews for help if I need advice. We’re done.”

With that, she opened the door of the dressing room. When her mother didn’t move, Betty raised her eyebrows and gestured.

Alice stalked toward her, fury etched on every inch of her features. She said, “You’re going to ruin your life, Elizabeth Cooper.”

Betty shrugged, still holding the door. Without hesitating, she replied, “Then that’s my problem, Mom. Tell Dad that I send my love.”

——————

Jughead was just as surprised as Veronica and Archie looked when Betty burst through the door of the green room only moments after she’d left. There was no middle-aged angry woman in tow, and his mind ran through several outlandish scenarios that might have caused her to leave so quickly. He pushed his imaginings from his mind—there was absolutely no way that anyone had found out about their…connection, not so quickly—and watched Betty carefully to watch for clues about what was going on.

Veronica—having the luxury of being publicly known as Betty’s best friend—leaped out of her chair as the blonde approached. “What happened?” she demanded, giving voice to the question that he felt everyone in the room was most likely thinking.

Betty shook her head, looking utterly furious. She dropped into the chair where she’d left her breakfast, took an angry bite of her toast, and drew in a long breath through her nose while she chewed. Jughead absently sipped his coffee as he watched her, wishing again that they’d put out cold cream rather than the powdered substitute. It was still too hot to drink. She swallowed her toast and took a gulp of coffee—it must have been boiling, how was she not burning her mouth?—and then looked up at Veronica, green eyes flashing. 

“I threw her out,” she snapped. As the words left her mouth, a flickering expression flitted across her face. Briefly, she looked fiercely pleased with herself.

Veronica mouthed the words like a broken parrot, staring at her. After a moment, she said weakly, “Well, finally! Good for you!”

That was Archie’s cue to offer his support. “Wow, Betty, I can’t believe this! What did she say?” he asked, his brows rising.

Betty glanced over at Jughead, who sipped his coffee again to fight the urge to join the conversation. “She told me that she was trying to find someone to blame for what happened the other night,” she said carefully. “Someone working for us. So I threw her out. None of our people did anything wrong—that guy just lost his mind.”

Jughead knew immediately what those words meant. Her mother was trying to have _him_ fired for what had happened. In a general sense, he wasn’t surprised. He had been hired to keep the fans away from the band, and that evening, he’d failed. Jughead wasn’t supposed to be escorting his charges in and out of the bathroom, of course. And he couldn’t be in four places at once. But he hadn’t noticed the fire escape any more than anyone else had—and that was supposed to be his job. Since it had never occurred to him that someone would be determined enough to climb a rusting metal staircase haphazardly affixed to the side of a multi-story building during a snowstorm, he’d clearly underestimated the lengths that fans would go. The rational part of his mind understood that, and he couldn’t help thinking that any other rational thinking adult would be able to see that these had been exceptional circumstances. But after the woman's frightening entrance, he suspected that perhaps she wasn't exactly processing things rationally. A flash of green in his direction caught his attention, and he looked up to meet Betty's eyes.

Veronica followed Betty’s gaze over to him. She looked back at Betty, a slightly calculating expression on her face. Then she surprised Jughead by saying, “We do need better security, though—no offense to Jughead--but we’ve been getting massively popular lately, and I think that our fans are getting to be too much for one person to handle. Please don’t take that the wrong way.”

Betty looked at her thoughtfully for a moment before she nodded. “No, I get what you’re saying. Jughead _was_ there to stop the guy from getting away, though.”

Archie nodded. “We’ll have to tell Harold that we want to keep him on, and ask if we can get him some help. Let’s do a video call so that he knows it’s coming from all three of us.”

Jughead felt a rush of gratitude for the frontman he’d always been slightly ungenerous toward—at least, in his thoughts. However he judged Archie Andrews’ writing or showmanship, Jughead was starting to get the impression that he was all around a decent guy. The best thing about Archie’s suggestion, he realized, was that in no way would it look like Betty was doing him any sort of favor. There would be no reason for anyone to suspect anything was happening between them. Not that Archie knew he was covering for them, of course.

He caught Betty's eyes again as she looked over, her expression thoughtful. Veronica turned in her chair and also made eye contact, taking him by surprise. Calmly, she said, “Since we’re so rudely talking about you like you’re not in the room, Jughead, why don’t you come over here and join us?”

His body rose from the chair as if it was on autopilot. He felt a profound sense of relief as he closed the distance between himself and Betty, his mind thanking a thousand gods for the gift of Veronica Lodge. Jughead placed himself between Betty and Trent as he sarcastically quipped in response to Veronica, “I was trying not to listen.”

Archie laughed. “Sorry, man, we weren’t subtle about it. But really, you’re great at your job. This isn’t the first time Betty’s mom has tried to ruin someone’s life.”

Betty nodded quietly, looking apologetic. Under the table, she pressed her leg against Jughead’s. He did his best to keep himself from registering his surprise on his face, but Veronica’s shrewd look told him that he hadn’t been completely successful. Again, she looked between Betty and Jughead with a thoughtful expression that he was starting to fear.

She looked about to say something when Bethany, the band’s assistant, rushed over to their table. She was clutching a smartphone, her face somewhat pale. Jughead felt a pang of anxiety at the sight of her, wondering what sort of fresh hell the Internet had caused for Betty today. Without preamble, she glanced wildly between Archie and Veronica instead, thrusting the phone toward them. “It’s gone viral already,” she said, her voice trembling.

Veronica took the phone and tapped the screen to light it up. Everyone at the table leaned forward to see what 'it' was as a single unit. Betty gasped, her hands flying up to her face in surprise.

A single photo dominated the screen. The frame was filled mostly with Archie, whose back was turned to the photographer. He was leaning over, bracing himself with both hands on the arms of an overstuffed chair. Sinking into the cushions below him was Veronica. Their faces were at the perfect angle for the photographer to capture the unmistakable contact between their lips. Window frames cut through the picture, indicating that the photographer had caught the moment from a distance. It could have been any green room, as the same nondescript hotel furniture had greeted them at every stop of their tour. In general, the photo seemed to simply capture two people in love as they shared an intimate moment of affection. But knowing the band's particular PR arrangement and the temperament of their manager, the image was so much more damning than it appeared.

Veronica’s eyes filled with tears and the hand holding the phone started to tremble. She looked up at Bethany in confusion. “Where did this come from?” she demanded.

The girl had the grace to look sorry for what she’d done. She said quietly, “It’s all over social media. Fans are going wild. Some were already convinced you were together, and this was the confirmation they were waiting for.”

Betty lowered her hands and looked over at Archie. “Oh my god, we have to call Harold. I’ll support you both, I’ll tell him that nothing is going on.”

Before Archie could say anything, they were surprised to hear Trent break in to the conversation. “But that would be a lie, Betty,” he said. All eyes were suddenly fixed on him. He stared at Betty with that impassive, wide-eyed look that reminded Jughead of a camera lens. Without looking at anyone else, he said, “You’re not a liar, Betty.”

Jughead felt her body tense next to his under Trent’s stare. Without thinking about it, he slipped his hand onto her thigh, trying to calm her down. The contact seemed to ground Betty, because she frowned and said slowly, “It would be bad if Harold thought this was true, Trent. For all of us.”

Archie was frowning, too. “And it wouldn’t be a lie, Trent. There’s nothing going on between Veronica and me.”

With those words, Trent cast his gaze impassively toward the ginger. “Grow up, Archie. You and Veronica have been fooling around since I’ve met you. Probably before that.”

Veronica was breathing quickly, and appeared to be on the edge of her own panic attack. Betty reached over and took her hand, squeezing it supportively. “You’ve lost your mind, Trent,” she snapped.

He frowned, demonstrating that he was definitely more than an android running a high-quality rhythm program. Turning his gaze back to Betty, he said, “No, Betty. You’re losing yours. Where were you yesterday night?”

Jughead hated feeling powerless to intervene, but he knew that saying anything in this conversation would tip Trent off about something going on between them, too. He looked over at Betty, watching her worry her bottom lip again. Veronica and Archie looked at her in anticipation for a moment before they seemed to realize that she had her own secrets to keep. Jughead was mildly surprised that it seemed she still hadn't told anyone what was happening between them. In solidarity, Archie said, “This isn’t about Betty. Harold has that ridiculous PR plan, and if he thinks that something is going on between any of us, he’s going to freak out.”

Trent shrugged. “Maybe that will teach all of you to be professional,” he commented.

Even Jughead felt his ire rising on their behalf at that comment. He couldn’t stop himself from saying, “It’s one of the most ridiculous professional arrangements I’ve ever heard of. Harold Fry shouldn’t be able to decide that four absurdly popular celebrities aren’t allowed to date anyone—for what, for the brand? I’m sure most of the fans won’t care at this point.”

While the three friends cast admiring gazes toward him, Jughead soon found himself on the receiving end of Trent’s uncanny look. He set his jaw and stared back. At least he’d gotten plenty of experience nonverbally holding his ground growing up. If he could stare down an alcoholic gang leader at fifteen, then Trent was small potatoes.

“It’s a brilliant PR move,” Trent commented, “though I wouldn’t expect someone with your background to understand that.”

Jughead reacted instantly. “What the fuck is that supposed to mean?” he snapped.

Trent’s expression cooled. “You don’t want me to answer that,” he said calmly. Then he rose from the table, looking around at his band mates. He said simply, “I suggest that you tell Harold the truth.”

——————

Betty slipped her hand over Jughead’s under the table. With everything falling to pieces around her, she needed to borrow some more of his strength. The skin on the back of his hand was smooth and warm, and she didn’t fail to notice that his hands were much larger than hers. Some corner of her mind immediately began dancing with visions of those hands covering many other parts of her body, but she banished her fantasies and focused on the crisis at hand.

If Trent told Harold the truth, it would be their word against his. And more than likely, Harold was smart enough to believe the drummer he’d hand-chosen over the close-knit group of friends. It seemed inevitable that Harold was going to find out about Archie and Veronica’s carefully guarded secret. Maybe they should be discussing his possible reaction, instead. Her stomach twisted at that thought. All of a sudden, she was five years old and trying to decide if she should tell her mom about a broken vase, or wait until her mom found it and face her punishment later. Neither option felt good.

As Archie and Veronica bent their heads together and whispered quietly to one another, Betty took out her own phone and began checking her social media accounts. One of their assistants often posted scripted updates and shared staged photos on their social media profiles—someone on Francine’s team. But Betty still had personal access to them, and she was grateful for that now. It looked like the photo had gone viral indeed. Millions of people had commented and shared the image. Youtube was suggesting that she might like to watch videos of talk show personalities discussing the scandal. Yes…it would be next to impossible to cover this up.

But from what Betty saw, much of the response from the fans was positive. People were happy to see that Archie and Veronica were acting like ‘normal kids,’ and ‘having fun being in love.’ It might have bothered her long ago to see those things being said about the person she’d effectively pined most of her teens away for, but Betty just scrolled grimly through the comment log and thought about Harold Fry. She looked up at Archie and said, “Should we call him?”

He looked over, but his body was still fully turned toward Veronica. “I think so,” he said. “Ronnie and I can do this, Betty. You don’t need to be there.”

She smiled lightly and squeezed Jughead’s hand under the table. In that moment, she was so grateful to have him by her side. “Yeah, but I directly disobeyed Harold yesterday too,” she reasoned. Then she confessed, “And I think that this rule is stupid, too. He told me the other day that it took two of us to overturn his decisions, and three of us to fire him. We should show him that we’re in this together.”

At her words, Veronica sat up straighter. “What?” she asked, blinking. “When did Harold say that?”

“When he and my mom decided together to dress me in wool for the rest of the tour,” Betty explained. Understanding lit up Veronica’s face. She glanced over at Jughead.

“Oh,” she said, finally making sense of Betty’s behavior the day before. “I think I have to thank you for saving my girl a second time then, Jughead.”

Following Veronica’s words, Betty glanced over at him and immediately felt a flutter of fiery butterflies turning corkscrews through her core. He was looking her way with a cavalier grin and a dark intensity in his blue eyes that she couldn’t interpret. His fingers twitched beneath hers when their eyes met. Sliding his gaze back over to Veronica, he said sardonically, “Really, I didn’t do anything. Betty sort of stole my clothes.”

Archie laughed loudly, and it was infectious. Betty felt some of the tension unwind from her belly as the laughter bubbled through her. She was so, so grateful that Jughead was beside her in that moment. Feeling less tense, she held out her phone.

Veronica stared at it, then nodded. Having gotten the go-ahead, Betty tapped their manager’s name in her favorites list.

Harold answered before the phone even had a chance to ring. It would be absurdly early on the west coast at this time—probably still pre-dawn—but apparently he’d been looking at his phone when she called. Betty switched it to speaker and they winced collectively at his booming “—LO? BETTY?”

She leaned forward and said cheerily, “Hello, Harold! Sorry to call so early.”

“NOT A PROBLEM, MY GIRL. FRANCINE JUST CALLED. I WAS GOING TO CALL HER BACK WHEN YOU CALLED.”

Betty looked up at Veronica. Her best friend’s face was panicked. So if Francine hadn’t gotten to speak with Harold yet, that meant he didn’t know.

“Hey Harold,” Archie said, leaning forward too. “I think I know why Francine was calling. There’s something that’s going around online.”

“WHAT IS IT?” Harold barked. Betty imagined that he was holding the phone in front of his mouth like a walkie-talkie. 

“It’s a picture,” Betty said quickly.

“WE ALREADY TOOK CARE OF THAT,” he shouted.

She blushed, knowing that he was referring to the photos that had been leaked just the day before. Wow, it had been a bad couple of days for The Archies online, she realized. Betty looked over at Archie with an expectant rise of one eyebrow. This wasn’t her news to share.

It felt like the phone was sucking the air out of the room as she waited for someone to speak.

“Harold, it’s a picture of me and Archie kissing,” Veronica finally said, her voice smooth and even. Betty looked over at her. It was like something in Veronica had switched. She was all composure and brusque business. Without pause, she said, “We need to get Mary on the line. We’re changing our contracts.” Betty inwardly applauded the way she’d handled the situation, allowing their manager absolutely no room for negotiation. She knew that, if the roles were reversed, her first instinct would have been to apologize for what happened and wait for Harold’s reaction. Veronica’s confidence was something that Betty had always admired in her.

A horrible silence followed her announcement. After what felt like forever, Harold said quietly, “I’ll call you right back.”

The line went dead. Archie put his hand on Veronica’s arm, concern written across every inch of his features. Betty hadn’t realized that she’d put her hands over her mouth at some point in the conversation until Jughead reached over and gently tugged her arm to lower them. In the deafening silence following Harold’s unusually low-toned parting words, the four of them stared at the phone as if he’d meant what he said literally.

—————

Jughead opened the door of the Lincoln for Betty, letting her slide into the back seat first before he ducked in himself. Their uber driver recognized her and tried immediately to strike up a conversation. Betty politely autographed a few things and offered the briefest replies possible. When they reached Voinovich Park, they gratefully escaped the car and made their way toward the waterfront.

He was grateful that Betty had suggested they should bring coats. It wasn’t snowing here like it had been in Detroit, but it was still frigid. The breeze from the lake wasn’t helping. After a few minutes in the fresh air, Betty’s cheeks and the tip of her nose were colored an adorable pink. Jughead couldn’t resist pulling her over and giving her a quick kiss.

She looked around, but she didn’t seem as worried as she’d been before. With everything that happened to Veronica and Archie earlier that morning, Betty seemed to feel that getting caught with Jughead wouldn’t be the end of the world. He wondered again why they hadn’t just decided to fire their manager.

“It’s beautiful,” Betty said, the words forming a little cloud as they left her lips. They had found an empty bench facing the water. Seeing her shiver, Jughead automatically put his arm around her shoulders and pulled her body against his. Betty didn’t protest.

“I’m glad we got to see it before we left,” he said. The words were charged with double meaning, after Harold’s decision had been proclaimed through Betty’s iPhone speaker.

She was quiet for a moment. The waves were lapping at the shore. Only a few seagulls squawked nearby, still waiting for their fair weather friends to return from sunnier climes. Betty reached up and tucked a lock of her hair behind her ear. She’d let it out of its ponytail when Howard ended his second call.

“Where are you going to go?” she asked, her voice shaking. Jughead tightened his arm around her, not really having given the idea much thought yet.

He said softly, “I’m not sure. My bike is in storage in West Sand Lake, so I guess I’ll have to find somewhere to rent.”

Her eyes turned toward him curiously. “You don’t have any family to crash with?” she asked.

He shook his head briefly. “Just a sister I haven’t seen in almost fifteen years. We’re not really close.”

Betty looked back at the water. “I’m expected to go back to my parents,” she said without emotion. He reached over with his free hand and found hers, threading their fingers together. At this time of day, in this weather, they appeared to be the only living souls in the park anyway. One more viral photo couldn’t do the band any more harm than what had already been done.

“In New York?” he asked, meaning the state and not the city. Betty nodded, the lock of hair escaping from behind her ear. The breeze blew it over her eyes almost immediately. 

“Archie and Veronica already have apartments in the city proper,” she commented. “Veronica was originally from there.”

Jughead glanced over. “But not you?” he asked.

Betty shook her head, and he saw the tears brimming in her eyes already. “My parents thought it was a waste of money.” She let go of his hand to brush at her eyes, still focusing at some distant point on the water. “I might ask Veronica if I can stay with her. I don’t want to go home and deal with my mom right now.”

He was surprised when she dropped her head against his chest, but she’d finally admitted what had been bothering her since Harold’s call. 

_Betty’s phone lit up and buzzed across the table. Immediately, Archie and Betty reached to answer. Their fingers crashed over the screen, and after a moment’s hesitation, Betty slid her phone toward herself and answered._

_“HELLO?” boomed Harold, his voice cutting through the air._

_“Hi Harold, we’re all here, except for Trent,” Veronica responded._

_“THE TOUR IS ON HOLD FOR NOW,” he announced. “SEND EVERYONE HOME. WE WILL MEET ON THE 17TH TO DISCUSS THIS.”_

_That was two and a half weeks away. Mentally, Jughead ran through what he knew about his own bus companions. Eliza was from Quebec—it couldn’t be easy to just go home for a two and a half week break and then resume touring across the country. He wondered if Harold realized the impact this decision had for everyone involved, not just the band. Probably not, he reasoned._

_Archie seemed to, though. “Harold, that’s a long time to wait,” he said. “What about the shows we have scheduled?”_

_“RAINCHECKS,” Harold snapped. Jughead recalled a few artists he’d paid to see when he was younger that had rescheduled their tour dates. He supposed that it wasn’t completely out of the ordinary. Of course, he’d never been privy to the backstage reasoning that had led up to those decisions, either._

_“We’ll see you on the 17th,” Veronica agreed, smoothly wrapping up the conversation. With Harold's short replies, everyone could tell that this conversation wasn't going to get them anywhere. There was nothing to do but wait._

So whatever this was that had been developing between himself and Betty would just have to take a two and a half week break. Jughead let his fingers caress her hand, trying to memorize the way her skin seemed impossibly soft against his calloused fingertips. It was sweet that she was worried about him, but he’d probably just rent a motel for a couple of days. Maybe use the time off to write.

Betty seemed to be thinking something similar, because when she looked up at him there was a soft expression set about her eyes. She seemed to hesitate, and then she said with a coy smile, “I’m not sure if you like _like_ **like** me yet, but I’m pretty sure I feel that way about you, Jug. If it’s okay with you, I want to call this something.”

He was completely surprised by her words. Recovering quickly, he joked, “It’s called Lake Erie.”

She smiled genuinely in response, amused. “Very clever,” she said sarcastically. “And here I was trying to have a romantic moment.”

At those words, he regarded her seriously. Catching her chin with the crook of his index finger, he tilted her head until their lips were almost touching. “What were you thinking?” he asked, letting his words brush over her burning mouth. A pull like the tug of a magnet was urging him to close the space between them with a kiss, but he waited curiously to see what she would say. His heart was threatening to beat its way out of his body.

Betty seemed just as flustered. When she spoke, the warmth of her breath touched his lips and she gave him a dose of his own medicine. “I’d like to say this is dating,” she said softly. “If that’s okay with you.”

Jughead let himself kiss her then, crushing their breath between them as his tongue found hers. Sliding his hand across her cheek and into her hair, he couldn’t help groaning as she naturally slipped onto his lap. It was impossible to hide how utterly arduous he was feeling toward her, especially when she nipped lightly at his lip with her teeth. Betty pressed against his body in response, and he knew she’d felt the effect that she was having on him. Somehow knowing that she knew functioned like a feedback loop to increase how desperately he was starting to need her. He broke away from the kiss and let himself rest his forehead against hers as they caught their breath.

Something about her tentative request settled in the back of his mind just then, starting to metastasize. He now had a girlfriend. His new girlfriend was an impossibly gorgeous celebrity, who was so famous that paparazzi was stalking her. She knew very little about him, or his past—but somehow, the creepy drummer seemed to know something that he wasn’t sharing—at least not yet. What damaging tidbit was it? And how long would it be before she realized that she was leagues above him, or at least that he wasn’t worth her time? Or until she found out something about his past that didn’t settle well enough in her mind, and she ran away from him like every other person in his life? Hell, most days he had trouble settling his past in his own mind.

He was in an impossible situation, then. His very own Kobayashi Maru. If he saved himself the heartache and told her that she was too good for him, he would be letting her down. If he told her that he was willing to recognize what they were doing as dating, then eventually—probably not tomorrow, hopefully not in a month, but likely soon—he would be letting her down. Jughead was familiar with this mental corner—he’d spent most of his adolescence there, waffling between moral duties and other equally pressing desires. 

Betty was looking at him with those haunting green eyes. She was waiting for him to say something, he realized. Jughead ran his hands over her hair, preparing to oblige. As his fingers drifted through those soft golden strands, something within him finally broke. “That’s more than okay with me,” he said—course locked, set, engaged. “I’m guessing you don’t want me to say anything on social media, though. Delete my Tinder account?”

She slapped at his arm, laughing again, her eyes flashing at his suggestion. “Only once I get to see your profile,” she teased. “Or you send me the pictures you uploaded, at least. Then you’d better, Jones.”

He kissed her again, unable to resist. She was just so damned cute when she was laughing. He loved that he was able to bring that authentic smile to her face, that he was the one who got to hear what her true laughter really sounded like.

When he was able to contain himself, he unlocked his phone and held it out to her. “I don’t have a Tinder,” he confessed, grinning. “Actually, I don’t spend a lot of time on social media at all. There aren’t many people I want to be social with.”

Betty didn’t take his phone. She leaned her cheek against his shoulder instead. “I don’t really, either. Someone runs my account for me.”

Jughead wasn’t surprised by that. Harold Fry really had them under lock and key, in every figurative sense. “So no changing our online statuses,” he joked. She let the corner of her mouth rise in a half-smile, looking contentedly at him. Jughead reached over and tucked a stray lock of hair behind her ear for her. Returning her lazy smile, he said, “That’s fine with me, Betty.”

She straightened abruptly, her eyes widening slightly. “Oh, I just realized!” she said, regarding him in dawning horror. “I don’t know your real name!”

Her words echoed slightly over the empty park. Jughead winced, already shaking his head. “No, that’s unnecessary,” he protested. “No one ever calls me that.”

Betty’s bottom lip jutted out immediately. Her eyes were suddenly impossibly wide and glimmering with unshed tears. Could she cry on cue? Holy fuck, he was in trouble. With the way she was looking at him, he would have robbed a bank if she’d asked him to. In a sweet, breathy whisper, she said, “Jug…”

“It’s Forsythe,” he blurted, then spat each subsequent word like a weight from his mouth, “Pendleton. Jones. The third.”

Her eyes lit up just as quickly as she’d pouted. Betty was the one to kiss him, then. She pulled him down to her, bracing her hands gently on either side of his face. Jughead closed his eyes and focused on committing her taste to memory. It would be too long before he had another chance to see her.

When Betty pulled away, she blinked up at him with a mischievous sparkle in her eyes. “It's nice to meet you, Forsythe," she said teasingly. Jughead rolled his eyes in response, pulling her body against his. 

He lowered his head and almost growled, "Now we really are in the fourth grade again, Betts."

She tilted her head to the side, blinking innocently up at him. Still maintaining her impish expression, she asked, "So when exactly can I call you that?" 

He didn’t miss a beat before replying, “You can call me that exactly never.”

——————

Betty hadn’t wanted to cut their date short, but it was getting so cold out that she couldn’t feel her fingertips. In the Pacifica that took them back to the venue, Jughead kept kissing her neck and the edge of her jaw as he whispered in her ear. Mostly he said things to make her laugh, but he also told her several times how beautiful he thought she was. By the time they got back, she was grinning stupidly and walking on air.

He went to collect the things he’d brought on the tour bus. Other members of the stage crew had already left, while the remainder were wandering about inside with their cell phones in various stages of making transportation arrangements. Betty went to the green room where Archie, Veronica, and Trent were lounging calmly.

Since all three had places in New York City, they’d arranged for the bus to take them there before their charter was cancelled. Betty assumed she would just go along. Likely, her mother would try to come and collect her, but she hoped that she could ask Veronica about staying over instead. Maybe they could watch some classic chick flicks during their time off.

That thought sparked an idea in the back of her mind, and jogged a memory. She looked over at Archie with a smile.

“Hey, Arch, can I ask you something?” she said, getting his attention.

———————-

Jughead slung his backpack over his shoulder and adjusted his hat. He was scanning through google maps, trying to find a decently priced motel somewhere in the grand vicinity of New York that didn’t look like a pay-by-the-hour establishment. Stepping off the bus, he drifted into the cancelled concert venue and paused within the door while his eyes and his phone's screen brightness adjusted.

He’d hardly taken three steps into the building when a familiar figure approached him. Jughead looked up from the screen in surprise, slipping his phone into his pocket. 

“Hey, man,” said Archie casually.

“Hey,” Jughead replied uncertainly. He couldn’t fathom what sort of business Archie had with him, now that the tour was off.

The ginger-haired rockstar shoved his hands into his jean pockets. “Betty says that you’re a fan of _Star Wars,_ and she mentioned that you don’t have a place to crash right now. I’m not sure if it’s weird or anything, but I thought you might stay over? At least a few days? I wouldn't mind watching them straight through. It seems like we have some similar interests.”

He was surprised completely by Archie’s suggestion. Unable to resist, he tested the waters by asking, "What order would you watch them in?”

Archie looked nonplussed at the question, almost like he was expecting it. "Classic trilogy first, followed by the early 2000s set, with the subsequent Disney series going last."

Jughead nodded in approval. "Yes, chronological order by date of release is my preferred viewing pattern, too. But you don't have to do this, Archie. I don't want to bother you." His unspoken _we aren't exactly friends_ went unsaid between them.

Archie looked relieved at Jughead's agreement. “Well, it’s sort of my fault that you’re on the streets right now, yeah? It’s the least I can do,” he explained.

That set Jughead’s mind a bit more at ease. It was a perfectly understandable reason for Archie to invite him to couch surf for a few days. He smiled easily in response. “Thanks,” he said, and he meant it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter: an unlikely alliance is formed, they meet a few old friends, and Betty loses her composure.


	6. Secret

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, this turned out to be an extra long chapter. I just kept feeling like it wasn't time to end it. 
> 
> Thank you to my wonderful beta reader, @ephemeralexistence! :)
> 
> And thank you so much for all your support! I love reading everyone's comments. :)

**J: B, are you still up?**

**J: I miss you.**

_B: I just left like five mins ago_

**J: I know! :(**

Betty laughed at the last text message she got from Jughead. Veronica looked over at her sharply, then quickly down at the screen. Jerking the phone out of her line of vision, Betty locked it and slid it back inside her purse. Veronica’s driver made a sharp turn, causing both passengers to sway with the change in momentum.

“Just a funny meme,” she commented, trying to cover up her little slip.

When Betty had asked if she could stay in New York with Veronica, her best friend had squealed in delight. She was more than happy to keep Betty rather than sending her back to Alice and Hal. Looking at this like some sort of debt she owed Betty for being so understanding about her relationship with Archie, Veronica lavished favors on her friend endlessly. Catered breakfasts, spa days, manicures and pedicures, an adorable new bag, and some of the most comfortable designer pieces Betty had ever worn. That evening, she was wearing a brand new cream Kate Spade trench coat with thick black edging and an adorable trio of buttons above her waistline. Beneath her new coat, Betty had on a soft white t-shirt that said ‘Pardon My French’ and a pair of beautifully double-stitched dark denim shorts. She’d worked some gentle curls into her hair that morning, and was pleased to see that they’d remained the entire day.

The only downside to sharing space with Veronica was that her longtime friend seemed to think Betty was hiding something from her. Though she and Jughead agreed a week ago that they were dating, Betty still hadn’t said anything to her friends about it. Maybe she felt like they didn’t deserve to know, after keeping their secret from her for so long. But she was also waiting anxiously for their meeting with Harold Fry, and until she knew what sort of repercussions the others were facing for breaking their contractual PR agreements, she wasn’t going to say anything. Jughead understood and kept his silence, too.

His arrangement with Archie was working out surprisingly well. Though the two of them were opposites in many ways, they made decent roommates. For the first few days they’d all been back in New York, Jughead and Archie had been fairly antisocial toward the girls. Betty finally got Jughead to confess that they’d been fueling themselves with pizza and beer through a classic science fiction marathon, interspersed with bouts of video games. Archie was apparently superior at console gaming, but Jughead’s inexhaustible knowledge bank of classic film trivia made up for his inexperience in that arena.

The day had finally come when they’d gotten bored enough to invite Betty and Veronica over. After the time she’d spent being pampered with all of Veronica’s favorite New York luxuries, Betty felt like an entirely new person. Her skin was glowing, her entire body felt relaxed, and she was wearing adorable new clothes that she’d chosen for herself without the intervention of any stylist. Contrary to her mother’s beliefs, she hadn’t dressed herself like a homeless heroin addict, either. She felt like the epitome of high class as she trailed behind Veronica into Archie’s apartment, set her new bag on the table beside the door, and looked around for her boyfriend.

His T-shirt was clean, at least. She hadn’t been expecting much after he told her what he’d been up to with Archie. And beneath his beanie, it looked like he’d gotten a haircut. They’d been texting all week of course, but Betty had been aching for contact with the real deal. When he saw Betty, Jughead’s face broke into a warm grin that made her want to kiss him in a thousand places. She returned her own sweet smile.

“Hey, girls,” Archie said, coming out of the hallway. His eyes lingered over Veronica, probably appreciative of her flirtatiously short pencil skirt.

Betty was still feeling a little awkward about the connection between her best friends, but she figured that time was all she needed to get used to their relationship. Trying to make sure that her inner turmoil didn’t impact their evening together, Betty said easily, “Hey, Archie. How have things been going for you guys?”

Her friend glanced over at Jughead, who shrugged and smiled. “Fine, I think,” Archie replied.

“When he isn’t pummeling me in Call of Duty, I’d agree,” Jughead joked sarcastically. 

Archie laughed. “I can’t help it that you suck at it, man.”

She was relieved that they seemed to be well on their way to becoming friends. The more she got to know Jughead—primarily via text message, unfortunately—the more she suspected that he’d get along with Archie and Veronica too. Part of Betty was starting to yearn for a time when she’d be able to act like a normal couple with him in front of her friends, but her fear of Harold Fry kept it a very small part for now.

They ordered in sushi, selecting one of each specialty roll from Veronica’s favorite local restaurant. A sous chef delivered the meal directly, bringing along a fancy wooden ship and laying out all the different pieces decoratively over its multiple decks. Once he’d finished crafting the display on Archie’s marble kitchen island, he’d stepped back and quietly informed them of the contents of each roll.

There were few foods in this world that Betty adored more than sushi. She particularly loved the crunchy and partially fried rolls, even knowing full well that they were absolutely the most inauthentic delicacies served on this side of the Pacific. As the ship’s cargo dwindled, she found herself going back for a second helping and bumped shoulders with Jughead. He knocked her chopsticks away from the last volcano roll, shooting her a playful glare.

“Back off, Betts,” he said softly, so that their friends didn’t hear the nickname.

She deftly closed her chopsticks around the roll and popped it into her mouth, all while holding his eyes with hers. As she chewed, he raised his eyebrows incrementally. Betty swallowed and said, “Never come between me and sushi, Jones.”

He licked his lips imperceptibly, maybe without even realizing he’d done it himself. She could feel that invisible pull more strongly than ever at that moment, like an unseen hand was physically pushing her to take a step toward him and press her lips against his. Betty closed her eyes for a moment and willed the feeling to pass—the doorway to the kitchen left them in plain view of their friends in the dining room, not to mention the sous chef standing patiently in the corner as they ate. When she opened her eyes, she was at least gratified to see that Jughead looked shaken too.

They returned to the table and found that Archie and Veronica were in the middle of a conversation. Both looked up when Betty and Jughead returned to the room. Veronica had the half-smile on her face that Betty immediately recognized as the beginning of a plan, and as their eyes met her friend immediately drew a sharp breath to begin explaining it.

“Archie and I were just talking about the band,” she said, unable to keep the excitement out of her tone. “We were thinking that, since we have a couple days off, we might put on a tiny show for some of our friends.”

Archie jumped in and added, “A secret show. Just for a few guests.”

She was shocked by the suggestion. Somewhere in their contracts, Betty was sure that Harold Fry had made them agree not to perform without his permission. Feeling immensely unsure, she said as much.

“Oh, B,” Veronica said, her tone saturated with disappointment. “No one said that Harold needed to know. Besides, he’s not invited.”

Even Archie looked unconcerned. “He’ll never know, B. This is just something for us to do for fun. Like when we were in high school. Remember the time we played on the roof of the auditorium?”

She did remember. Her mother had been furious that she’d gone along, since Betty could have fallen off the roof and died. But most of the students in their school had spilled out of the building and gathered in the parking lot, cheering wildly throughout their impromptu performance. It had been one of the most exhilarating concerts of her fledgling career.

Betty glanced at Jughead, who was looking at her with an unreadable expression. He didn’t seem willing to participate in the conversation yet. She wondered what he was thinking.

“I wouldn’t mind,” she reluctantly agreed. “But can we do it without Trent? Maybe see if Chuck could fill in for us instead?” After Trent’s chastisement in Cleveland, Betty wanted to see as little of him as possible. She was sure that Archie and Veronica felt the same way.

They both looked relieved. “Yes, of course,” Archie said. “I’ll call him and we’ll see if we can get a local bar.”

Jughead surprised everyone by saying, “I know one. And I know the management. Just tell me the date and you’re in.”

Betty felt just as shocked as the others looked. She blinked at her boyfriend, completely taken aback by his statement. Where had this come from? But Archie spoke before she could say anything. “Awesome, man, thanks. How about a week from today? Do you think they’ll already have something booked for next Thursday?”

Jughead was already text messaging someone. “I doubt it. The bar has a little stage, but they don’t line up live acts too far in advance. Just—“ he paused, his phone lighting up as whoever he was texting replied. “Oh, sweet. You’re in.”

Veronica smiled brightly. “I’ll make up some flyers and we can spread the word. Quietly,” she added.

It happened so quickly that Betty hardly had time to wrap her mind around it. If she was honest with herself, knowing that they’d agreed to do something so rebellious filled her with the same sort of adrenaline rush that wearing Jughead’s hat on stage had just a few days earlier. But she was still reticent about their approaching meeting, and so the date of the show settled like sour food in the pit of her stomach.

After dinner, Archie suggested that they should watch a movie. She was dying to sneak away and ask Jughead how he’d managed to set it up. But spending too much time away from their friends would seem suspicious, so she was content for the time to sit next to him on the love seat in Archie’s living room. Veronica was stretched out on the couch with her feet in Archie’s lap. It seemed like they were at least continuing to restrain themselves, probably for Betty’s sake. She wanted to tell them that she couldn’t have cared less, since her hand was intertwined with Jughead’s and buried in the cushions of the couch between their thighs, but she was resolutely keeping their secret tonight. Halfway through the movie, she pretended to fall asleep so that she had an excuse for dropping her head against his shoulder.

“I already called the driver,” Veronica whispered, suddenly closer to Betty than she’d been moments before.

She realized with a start that she really must have fallen asleep. Opening her eyes, she looked up at Jughead in surprise. He smirked. “Don’t worry, Betty, no one took our picture,” he joked. 

Archie shook his head. “Too soon,” he complained, groaning.

“Sorry, man,” Jughead quipped back.

Betty reluctantly let go of his hand and straightened, hoping that Veronica hadn’t noticed how close they’d really been. She blinked a few times and rubbed her eyes, fully waking up. “Sorry, Jug,” she said.

He smiled easily. “I didn’t mind,” came his soft reply.

In the car on the way back to the apartment, Veronica tried to sneak a peek at Betty’s phone when she smirked at Jughead’s sad face emoji. Not buying Betty’s lame excuse about looking at a meme, she said shrewdly, “Jughead seems really nice, Betty.”

She looked over sharply, her heart beating a warpath into her throat. How did Veronica know that was exactly who she’d been texting? Betty quickly rationalized that she didn’t—it was a natural observation after the evening they’d spent with the guys. Taking a steadying breath, she smiled lightly and nodded. “He’s pretty friendly,” she agreed.

Veronica turned toward the window nonchalantly. “Toward you in particular, B. I feel like we don’t know something about him, though. Something important.”

Betty frowned, confused by her friend’s statement, but simultaneously alarmed. Veronica’s hunches in terms of reading other people were often tantamount to predictions. She said carefully, “He did get us that venue pretty quickly.”

Her friend tapped a thoughtful finger against her lips, still looking out the tinted window of the car. She let the silence hang between them as Veronica thought. Betty surreptitiously slid her phone out of her purse and sent another quick message to Jughead.

_B: How do you know a bar owner?_

It was a few minutes before he replied. She worried in the meantime that she’d overstepped some sort of line between them. They’d been texting all week, their messages becoming more and more flirtatious as they spent time apart. She felt like this was abruptly out of the realm of their usual conversations, and worried that she might scare him by prying so directly. Her phone lit up moments later.

**J: Old friend.**

She wasn’t sure how to respond to his terse reply. Worrying her bottom lip, she began and deleted a few replies. Thankfully, her phone buzzed beneath her fingers before she sent anything.

**J: I’ll introduce you next week?**

_B: okay :)_

Betty looked over at Veronica and realized that she was trying to catch a glimpse of her phone screen again. Locking it quickly, she put it back in her purse. She flashed her best friend a smile and turned to look out her own window.

—————

Jughead was surprised by how natural it felt to stay with Archie. Sure, the apartment he was crashing was larger than the entire place he’d called home as a kid. And the entertainment system in Archie’s living room was worth more than what Jughead expected to make in a year. Also, unlike every other friend he’d ever crashed with in his life, Archie had provided Jughead with a guest suite—complete with a queen sized bed and his own full bathroom.

Whatever he’d thought of Archie during the time they’d been working together, Jughead had to admit quickly that he was an all-around decent guy. He’d caught Jughead reading the second day they’d been in the apartment together, and rather than making some jockish joke about how much he hated books, Archie simply asked if Jughead liked it. He’d continued to earn respect from there.

They’d worked their way through the original Star Wars trilogy, followed by a marathon of William Shatner classic Star Trek for contrast. Jughead ate double his weight in pizza, as it seemed that Archie had an automatically replenishing supply.

By the time Archie got out the xbox, Jughead didn’t have the heart to tell him that he’d only played consoles growing up when he spent the night with friends on the other side of town. He’d at least managed not to die instantly, though Archie made tapping all the buttons and navigating the joysticks look as mystifying as a pianist performing a Tchaikovsky concerto.

He was fairly relieved when Archie suggested that they should invite Betty and Veronica over for dinner. The days had started blending together in a dangerous pattern of eating and sleeping. 

After the band decided that they’d be putting on their secret show, Jughead had text messaged one of his oldest friends. She’d moved to New York shortly after they’d graduated high school. Using a chunk of money she inherited after her grandfather passed away, she’d purchased a modest bar and gone into business for herself. He’d even worked there on and off for a few years, filling in for her bartending staff whenever she was short handed.

It took him by surprise when Betty asked him later how he knew the owner of a bar. He wondered if she was worrying about it. Jughead had been careful not to say too much to her about his past yet, other than a few general details about his family. He figured he’d introduce Betty when they were there the following week. Thinking of his friend, he wondered if Betty would connect the dots and figure out more concerning his previous life as the son of gang leader than what he’d wanted to share with her.

Time seemed to be flying by, and Jughead suspected it wasn’t just because he was quickly running out of books to re-read. Without the bustle of the tour, he didn’t have much to do other than read. By Sunday, Jughead turned his final page. He lay in Archie’s guest bed and looked at the ceiling for a while, wondering if Betty was awake. Instead of text messaging her—he was worried that he was going to overwhelm her if he did that too often—he walked quietly into the kitchen to get something to eat.

He was surprised to see Archie sitting at the dining table, an old composition notebook skewed in front of his arms. The ginger-headed rockstar had his chin on the edge of the table and he was looking at the pages despondently. He didn’t move when Jughead walked into the room.

“Why is it so hard to think of the next words?” he mumbled, almost so quietly that Jughead didn’t hear him.

Pausing, he glanced down at the composition book. The page was covered in handwritten notes, some scribbled out with new words jammed into the spaces around the scribbles. Jughead said, “Most writers ask that question every day?”

Archie looked up at him, heaving a large sigh. He ran a hand through his hair. “I thought I’d use this break to work on a new song,” he explained. “But nothing sounds right.”

Jughead didn’t say anything for a moment. Somewhere in his mind, he weighed out whether or not he wanted to let his new friend know about his literary hobby. After a long pause and Archie making a sound of frustration, Jughead gave in and said, “Want me to take a look at it?”

They seemed equally surprised by the suggestion. Jughead was still wondering why he’d allowed the words out of his mouth when Archie replied, “Uh, sure. I don’t usually let anyone see my stuff until it’s ‘done’ though.” He slid the notebook over and leaned back in his chair, looking anywhere but at Jughead’s reaction.

Looking down at the notes, Jughead took a moment to decipher Archie’s handwriting. Once he’d gotten it, he read quickly through each line and tried to mentally note the rhythm.

“You don’t have enough syllables here,” he commented, sliding the book back across the table. “Change a word so that you have one more beat, and it will sound right.”

Archie blinked at the page, then pulled it toward himself and took Jughead’s suggestion. After fixing the last line, he quickly wrote out three more. He looked up from the table. “I never thought about counting syllables. Uh—how did you—“

Jughead shrugged. “I wrote a lot when I was younger,” he admitted.

That caught Archie’s attention. “What sort of stuff?”

Looking away, he said carefully, “Some journalism. Mostly prose.”

“Like a novel?” Archie asked—possibly checking what ‘prose’ meant, Jughead thought wryly.

He nodded. “Yeah,” he confirmed. Hopefully Archie wouldn’t press too much about that. He subconsciously closed his hand around his phone in his jacket pocket, mind drifting off to a particular story he’d been nursing in Google docs for far too long. Jughead decided that, for all intents and purposes, he’d already revealed more to Archie than he’d intended. No sense in stopping now. With the trepidation audible in his tone, he said, “A little poetry too.”

Archie perked up, straightening in his chair. “Now you’re speaking my language,” he said intently. He tapped his pencil against the page and said, “I wanted to play something at the underground show to surprise the girls, but these lyrics sort of suck. Everything I write lately is all rhymed crap. Do you think you have any poems I could set to music?”

He may as well have asked if Jughead minded letting him rip out his eyeteeth with a rusty pair of pliers. While he’d never minded sharing his nonfiction work, Jughead could very resolutely say that no soul on the face of the earth had ever read any of his other drabbles.

“I might be able to come up with something,” he agreed. “But you have to swear, here and now, that you won’t say it came from me.” At Archie’s surprised expression, Jughead smirked and said, “I have an image to protect too, you know.”

——————

Betty tried not to flinch as Veronica put a hand over her eyes and covered her hair with glittering spray. She’d gone with a smoky eye palette for their secret show, selecting a deep red lip tint that contrasted sharply with the green of her eyes. The day before, she’d gone shopping with Veronica to choose their outfits for the evening. Betty decided that part of the fun of this show would be selecting a look that was completely different from her usual wardrobe. Veronica had been all too happy to oblige.

She was wearing a backless black halter tank with peaked panels that wrapped around the nape of her neck and tied at the base of her spine. It modestly covered her front, but the tank flashed tiny glimpses of the side of her breasts when she moved her arms the right way. Betty had already verified that playing her bass was included in ‘the right way.’ She was anxious about wearing something so… well, for lack of a better term, sexy—but some part of her was eagerly anticipating seeing her boyfriend’s reaction.

Veronica had suggested pairing the top with a tight mini skirt, but Betty chose a pair of low-riding shorts instead. They were comfortable, and since she was already feeling like her upper body was too exposed, she found the shorts generally reassuring. She’d found a pair of strappy gladiator heels that complimented the outfit nicely, which rose to about mid-calf. The golden stiletto flashed and caught the light when she walked.

It was V that suggested adding the sparkles to their hair. She’d given herself a generous dousing as well. Apparently, she expected the lighting in the bar to be much dimmer than the stage lights they often tanned beneath. She kept saying something about the glitter making their hair flicker like candlelight, and Betty just went along with her plan.

“B, you’re stunning,” Veronica breathed, stepping back to admire her work. Betty grinned, looking at herself in the mirror. She almost didn’t recognize the young woman looking back.

Wearing something like this felt like dropping a house on top of the wicked witch of the east that was sometimes known as Alice Cooper. Betty had been nervous about doing the show, but spending a week being pampered by Veronica and now doing something that felt so deliciously bad was making her feel unaccountably _good_.

Betty held out her phone to Veronica. “Would you take a few pics, V? I just want to make sure I don’t have a weird piece of hair in the back or something.”

Without hesitation, Veronica took the phone and snapped a few photos as Betty turned and posed. Taking back her phone and glancing through the pictures, Betty smiled at her friend. 

“Stop worrying, you’re going to knock them out,” Veronica gushed. Then she bumped her elbow into Betty’s side. “I bet Jughead won’t be able to take his eyes off you.”

Betty couldn’t stop herself from blushing. She blinked in surprise, then realized that Veronica was trying to set them up. For the last few days, she’d continually mentioned the dark-haired young man. It was almost comical to consider the irony that Betty was already aware of everything Veronica was not-so-subtly suggesting. Glancing back at her phone, her smile became one of deep satisfaction. Yes, she thought that Jughead probably would like her outfit quite a bit.

——————

Jughead walked into _The Snake Bite_ and walked straight toward the back room. He’d gotten there early, wanting to meet his old friend before The Archies arrived.

She was leaning over her desk when he walked into the office, the tips of her pink ringlets of hair caressing the papers that had brought a frown to her face. When he walked in, her brown eyes flicked up to his face and she immediately smiled.

“Forsythe,” she teased, straightening and putting her hands on her hips. “It’s been a long time since you walked through my door.”

He held up his hands in mock surrender. “I’ve had a lot going on, TT.”

She came around the desk and put her arms around him, still grinning. Her expression sobered as she released him from the hug and she said, “I heard about what happened to FP. I’m so sorry, Jug.”

It was like a figurative knife to the gut. He’d spent so many months running away from the hard truth of his new reality that he rarely considered it. She must have seen the hurt flash in his expression, because her brows knit together in concern. Before she could say anything else, Jughead answered curtly, “Thanks. Are we set up for tonight?”

She acquiesced to his silent plea and allowed the conversation to return to business. With a thoughtful pause, she said, “I think so. We don’t really have a proper dressing room, but you know that. Can you let them into the room next to the stage and show them around? I’ve got a few things to sort out here.”

He nodded. “Just let me know what you need tonight, I’m happy to help.”

Realistic to the core, she shot back, “You’ll probably be busy fighting people back from the stage, Jug. But thanks.”

He let himself out of the office and returned to the front. A few patrons were already distributed throughout the bar, looking more like regulars than the fans he routinely fought away from the band. Passing the bar, he noticed that the bartender looked fresh out of high school. He wondered if the kid really knew how to pour.

Fans began arriving in droves before Betty, Veronica, or Archie did. Jughead checked his phone, sending off a quick text.

**J: Are you on your way yet?**

_B: just parking._

He put his phone back in his pocket just as the front doors opened and a group of at least ten people walked in. The bartender blanched visibly at the sight, anxiously picking up a towel to wring over his hands. Jughead sighed and wondered where the owner had unearthed this one. He drifted over to offer his assistance.

——————

 _The Snake Bite_ wasn’t a classy underground club—which was something that Betty was at least familiar with—but it wasn’t a dive, either. Her parents had meticulously sheltered her from any sort of questionable establishment growing up, so upon entry she felt immediately and vastly out of her element. At least there was only a moderate crowd gathered by the time she arrived with Veronica. Given the size of the room, it was a much more intimate crowd than the shows she’d grown accustomed to playing. Betty felt blissfully relieved, though her twinge of anxiety about going behind Harold Fry’s back still hadn’t fully dissipated. 

She toted her heavy bass case through the back door, holding her tambourin with her free hand. Veronica’s driver carried the bulkier keyboard, leaving the much more manageable stand for the petite brunette. Setting up was the work of a moment.

In the middle of their arrival, a small woman approached them with an air of authority. She had long hair that was sculpted into trailing ringlets, completely dyed a pale but unmistakable shade of pink. The woman was wearing a plain dark grey t-shirt and a denim mini-skirt, though both faded nondescriptly in comparison to her hair. Boots that wouldn’t look out of place in a motorcycle gang completed the look. Betty glanced around for Jughead, but couldn’t immediately pick out his beanie in the crowd of patrons. Looking back at the woman that seemed to be some sort of manager, she smiled brightly. 

“Hi, you’re Betty Cooper,” the woman stated, holding out her hand. “I’m Toni Topaz, nice to meet you.”

Betty was slightly shocked at her firm handshake. She rivaled Veronica in the bone-crushing department. Unconsciously massaging her bones back into place, she said, “Nice to meet you, too. Archie and Chuck are on the way, they left right after we did.”

Toni glanced over at Veronica’s equipment and said, “Did Jug show you where to go?”

A circuit completed in Betty’s mind at that innocuous question. So this woman knew Jughead. Coupled with her air of authority, could that mean that she was the owner he’d said was an old friend? Toni looked younger than Betty, though she knew it was very unlikely that someone under the legal drinking age would own a bar in New York City. She glanced around again, still not catching sight of her errant boyfriend. “I haven’t seen him yet,” she admitted to Toni.

She rolled her eyes briefly before taking a moment to restore her composure. With a deep breath, she said, “Typical, Jug. Okay, there’s a room to the side of the stage. It’s not really a dressing room, we use it for storage, but it’s really all we’ve got. Unless you want to wait out here with everyone else, that’s fine too—” she paused, her eyebrows rising in realization, “—but we don’t really have a ton of security, so it’s up to you. Make yourselves comfortable, and thank you so much for playing here tonight.”

Betty blinked at Toni’s implication regarding the security, but fixed her best smile in place and nodded instead of saying anything about it. “Thanks,” she managed to say before Toni was marching off toward an open hallway next to the bar. As Betty watched her go, she finally caught sight of Jughead. To her surprise, he was actually behind the bar himself, shaking a stainless steel mixing cup before making a show of pouring its contents into a chilled glass.

She had no idea that he knew how to mix drinks. Blinking, her introduction to Toni Topaz fully registered in her mind. She also had no idea how Jughead knew Toni, or what sort of relationship they had. He’d simply said they were ‘old friends’, but something about the way Toni casually abbreviated his nickname suggested that they were closer than casual acquaintances. She worried her lower lip with her teeth as she thought, heading for the little storage room to unpack her bass and tune. There was nothing to do but ask him about it later.

Archie and Chuck had arrived by the time she stashed her case. She and Veronica helped them bring in the drum set. They hadn’t seen Chuck in months, but he’d hardly changed since high school. After he’d verified that his equipment was all in one piece, he straightened and smiled at Betty and Veronica.

“Looking good, ladies,” he said smoothly. Just as easily, he pulled each of them into a brief hug as a greeting. “Betty, you look all grown up,” he complimented, looking her over appreciatively.

It was a double-edged comment, to be sure. Her smile cooled as she stepped away from him and replied, “I was just thinking that you haven’t changed a bit since high school, Chuck.”

If his laugh in response sounded a little forced, she didn’t care. They hadn’t exactly been best of friends in school, but Chuck had supported Archie as they tried to get the band off the ground. Betty thought of him as a colleague, but hardly a friend. After what he’d done in high school, she didn’t think that they would ever graduate to that sort of relationship.

Making quick work of their setup, Archie and Betty checked their tuning in the storage room together one last time. Leaving their guitars propped up in the cases, they re-joined Chuck and Veronica in the bar.

“I’m going to get a drink before we get started,” Veronica announced, glancing over at Archie. “Want anything?”

He shook his head. “Not before the show, V. Maybe after.”

Betty nodded. “I guess I’ll have a shirley temple,” she said regretfully, feeling infantile and ridiculous for requesting cherry soda. Veronica laughed at her pout. 

“I’m sure no one is going to ID you, B. I’ll be right back.”

When Betty looked over, Veronica was placing an order with the boy behind the bar. Jughead was occupied, speaking with Toni Topaz at the entrance of the hallway. Archie said something to her, but Betty was too busy covertly watching her boyfriend to respond. Toni put her hand on his arm and stepped closer to him. 

For Betty, jealousy wasn’t a completely foreign emotion. She’d spent long enough pining after Archie and having her feelings go entirely unreciprocated that she was intimately familiar with the sensation. As she watched Toni smile up at Jughead and stretch to her tiptoes to kiss his cheek, she felt its ugly mass rearing its head at the pit of her heart. She looked quickly away, wishing that she hadn’t seen how he smiled back at Toni and brushed his hand over her arm.

Betty wasn’t blind. Casual friends didn’t contact each other that way. She knew—hopefully as soon as she could catch him in private—she would just have to ask Jughead what was going on.

A slightly sickening thought occurred to her: maybe she’d misunderstood him so far. After all, their entire relationship was barely anything more than some PG-rated kisses, a flew clandestine meetings, and emoji. Hardly anything in the grand scheme of life, she thought. Betty wondered if she was possibly encroaching on whatever feelings Toni had for Jughead, and as soon as the thought crossed her mind she hoped bitterly and intensely that she was wrong.

Before she could decide to act on what she’d witnessed, Veronica returned with two fancy glasses. She held one out to Betty.

“This is a cosmopolitan,” she said with a wink. “Just don’t drink it too fast, B.”

Betty gingerly took the glass and balanced it so that the rose-tinted liquid within wouldn’t spill over the wide brim. Tasting the cool, slightly fruity drink with the smallest sip, she immediately thought that it was better than she expected. Veronica raised her eyebrows as Betty took a longer sip.

“It’s good,” she said, and flashed her brightest smile.

Veronica took a small sip of hers then delicately set it on a ledge along the back of the stage. Chuck held up his hands. “Where’s mine?” he asked playfully.

She shot back in a patronizing tone, “I thought you were a big enough boy to get your own.”

Archie approached at that moment, his guitar in hand. “Hey guys, I think we’re ready,” he said, unable to keep the excitement out of his tone. When Betty looked over the room, it did appear that people had been steadily arriving as they set up. The crowd had swollen to fill the bar, though the patrons were at least able to stand without being pressed shoulder to shoulder.

She took another long drink and set down her glass near Veronica’s. When she turned, she felt as if her arm were just slightly lighter than usual. The familiar feeling that hit her after a full glass of wine rose up unexpectedly—she’d only had a little more than a mouthful of that drink, and she was already feeling slightly detached from her body. Veronica hadn’t been kidding when she suggested drinking it slowly. Without any further hesitation, Betty closed her hand around the neck of her bass and slung the strap over her shoulder.

————————

Jughead was grateful when Toni told him that she’d take over behind the bar. He moved closer to the stage, eyes scanning the crowd for signs of trouble. The habits born of two months died hard, and he had to remind himself a few times that it wasn’t his responsibility here to ensure that the fans didn’t end up on the ground. He didn’t want anyone getting too close to his friends, though. 

The band opened with one of their more popular hits and the crowd responded like a well-tuned fiddle. Unlike the usual screaming masses that he faced, these fans seemed vastly more composed. They were mostly smiling, some were dancing, and many sang along. Jughead decided instantly that he preferred secret shows.

Four songs into the show, the band decided to take a short break. Betty and Archie disappeared to check their tuning, but Veronica beckoned Jughead to the side of the stage.

“Hey Jug, could you get B and I a refill?” she asked, holding out two empty martini glasses. “Cosmos, please.”

He took the glasses and said, “Of course. Anything for m’ladies.”

Slipping through the crowd, he deposited them in the dishwasher. Picking up two clean glasses in one hand, he began pouring into a shaker. Toni sidled up next to him and said, “What are you doing?”

He glanced over. “Putting two more cosmos on my tab,” he replied.

Toni laughed. “Pouring a little heavy handed there, Jug. Out of practice?” she teased.

He didn’t say anything, but began shaking the mixer instead. With people lining the bar, Toni didn’t have extra time to tease. She moved away to help her bartender, who was starting to look more and more overwhelmed by the moment.

A few people asked Jughead for drinks, but he shrugged and pretended not to hear them. Pouring two fresh glasses, he carefully made his way back to the stage and held them out to Veronica.

“Thanks,” she said glibly, looking over as Archie returned from the back room. Betty was still conspicuously occupied in the side room.

Crossing the stage, Archie smiled as he caught sight of Jughead. He leaned over and said something to Veronica, who looked surprised. Betty emerged from the side room at that moment, her cheeks beautifully flushed. Jughead wasn’t sure if it was because of the rising temperature in the crowded room or her first cosmopolitan. He smiled at her but—surprisingly—she looked away. He knew then that something was wrong, but it would be at least another hour before he’d be able to speak with her.

Archie picked up his mic and interrupted Jughead’s rapidly growing feeling of alarm. “Hey everyone,” he said, looking over the crowd. “I came up with a little surprise for you all tonight—for Betty and Veronica, too.” With that said, he glanced over at Jughead, who was still standing by the edge of the stage. “Well, I had some help. But I wanted you all to be the first to hear this.”

Fans on all sides of Jughead surreptitiously took out their phones, preparing to record. Archie began plucking out notes on his guitar, filling the room with the dulcet sounds of an arpeggiated cord. Then, he sang.

_A sweet dream stealing softly_  
Through the chambers of my heart,  
You’re medicating and meandering. 

_But I never imagined, girl_  
How you’d infiltrate my mind,  
How you’d conquer me completely. 

_When I close my eyes, you’re there._

_And you can’t imagine the darkness_  
That I felt every day, before the day  
That I first saw you. 

_But when I close my eyes, you’re there._  
You’re waiting there,  
Yeah, you’re there. 

As he crooned the final nonsensical notes of the song, Jughead felt something like dizziness descending on himself. He’d written that poem the day he’d moved in with Archie, thinking about how much he was missing getting to see Betty every day. Of course, he hadn’t told Archie who the poem was addressing or what it was about when Archie asked if he had any words that could be set to music. Archie’s melody elevated those words into a completely new experience for Jughead, though. It was like having artwork he’d produced transmuted into another medium, something he’d never be able to imagine himself—but something he was still fiercely proud to be a part of.

Betty was staring thoughtfully at Archie as he sang, her brows creased lightly. Jughead hadn’t let her read any of his writing yet, and he wondered what she thought of it. The lyrics were definitely a huge departure from the sort of thing that Archie usually wrote.

The room was quiet for a moment as Archie plucked his final notes. Next to Jughead’s ear, a fan suddenly yelled, “ARCHIEEE!!!”

It opened a floodgate of cheering. Archie looked up with a relieved smile, met Jughead’s eyes, and thanked the crowd. He leaned back and said something to Veronica, then took a few steps to tell Betty. Within moments, they were playing another hit.

As the concert continued, he was riding on the high of hearing his first song performed. Jughead emptied a water bottle himself before they were done, remaining near the stage as much as he could—though the crowd was quite excellently behaved. As Archie worked his way through his set list, Jughead quietly wondered why Betty had looked so troubled.

——————

She’d had three cosmos by the time they were ready to leave the bar. It was two more drinks than she’d ever had on a single day in her life—her mother’s nagging warning about alcohol ruining her figure playing on an endless loop in her mind as she struggled to maintain her center of balance.

Archie thought it was funny. He’d had a few months of time to get accustomed to the feeling of drunkenness, and Fred had always been lenient about allowing Archie to have a beer every once in a while at home. Like a true gentleman, he took her bass after their show and secured it for her. Veronica helped Betty step off the edge of the stage, steadying her with an arm so that Betty didn’t stumble in her unusually elevated heels.

Without a word, Jughead appeared to take Betty’s other arm. He tucked her against the side of his body, leading her through the crowd. When she glanced back, Veronica was helping Archie and Chuck tear down their set.

“Where are we going?” she asked, speaking over the music of the bar’s sound system. Jughead led her to the hallway she’d seen Toni coming from earlier. He seemed to know his way around this place well—Betty wondered how often he came here.

Jughead opened a door and pulled her into a small room. There were a few small lockers along one wall, a refrigerator, and a low couch. He led her into the room and then let her go. Turning, he locked the door behind them, and in the same motion he pulled his hat off his head and tossed it aside.

“Betty,” he said, frowning as he took a step toward her. She felt the world lurch uncomfortably beneath her as she met his eyes, taking a step to steady herself.

“Jug,” she whispered, licking her lips. “I—“

He pulled her against himself, his fingers trailing over her exposed back and leaving a path of tingling fire in their wake. Jughead’s deep blue eyes searched hers. A lock of dark hair fell across his forehead as he looked down at her. 

“Betts, you might think it’s too soon for me to say this. But you look fucking amazing tonight, and you’re all I think about every second of every day,” he said, his fingers still working their way across her back. “Betty Cooper, I love you.”

She felt her breath get caught in her throat. Tears immediately filled her eyes. As they spilled over her cheeks, Jughead frowned and brushed them away. He looked more worried than she could recall seeing him, and that made sense given his admission. To reassure him, she leaned into his touch, one thing about the evening finally making sense to her.

“Archie didn’t write that song,” she stated, looking to Jughead for confirmation.

He shrugged one shoulder, the corner of his lip curling up in a half-smile. “Well, he’s no Hemingway,” Jughead said sarcastically, laughing.

She shook her head. Though she was pleasantly surprised by his hidden talent, and some sober part of her mind registered that the lyrics had been quite intimate when she thought about them, there was something more urgently weighing on her mind—something that she _had_ to resolve. “Jughead, I saw you,” she said. When he frowned in confusion, she added, “With Toni.”

His eyebrows rose in realization. Without hesitation, he said, “Oh, Betty. There’s nothing between me and Toni.”

Betty felt a fresh flood of tears. Of course, he’d say that. She pressed her face against his chest, not wanting him to see how torn up she was about this extra complication coming between them. Jughead knew, though. He held her chin and lifted her head back to meet his eyes. She felt herself trembling, and realized suddenly that if he hadn’t been holding her, she wouldn’t have been able to stand. With her voice shaking as much as her body, she said, “B—but—“

Jughead shook his head. “Betty, I swear.” He looked at her so earnestly when he said it, so openly, that she couldn’t imagine him deceiving her. Not after he’d bared his heart to her, holding it outside his body and waiting to see if she’d treat it tenderly or torturously.

Though she could hear in his voice that there was more to be said, and there was a question that would still need to be answered, Betty was done worrying about what was right—or doing things the right way (whatever the hell the right way was). If Jughead said that it was nothing, then for now she would believe him. And right now, there were words pushing against her lips and she wasn’t going to keep trying to hold them back. 

She looked up at him and said, “I love you too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did I intentionally use the word "darkness" in Jughead's lyrics? Maybe.
> 
> Next chapter: we're sailing into some smutty territory, Jughead has to do some serious protecting, and Jughead's past starts coming to light for Betty.


	7. Out

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you again to ephemeralexistence for beta reading!

Once the words left her lips, Betty found herself unable to stop smiling. Jughead was looking at her like she was the only thing in the world that had ever mattered to him, and that satisfied something deep within her that she never knew she had needed to be fulfilled. This wasn’t like holding hands with Archie when she was so madly in love with him that she hardly looked at any of the other boys in school, or watching Reggie admire her body as she stretched out in the back of his car for the first time. The way Jughead looked at her was so much more intimate and exhilarating than that.

She pulled him to her and kissed him, closing her eyes as she slid her hands around the back of his neck and let her fingers tangle into his hair. Jughead lifted her, both hands cupping the backs of her thighs. She felt weightless in his arms—and maybe that was because of the cocktails she’d had during the show, if she was honest. As her back touched the couch, she arched against Jughead to escape the tickling sensation of the cool fabric between her shoulder blades. He pressed his hips against hers, pushing her down, igniting a heat that curled below her belly and spread immediately into her core.

Betty nipped at his lip with her teeth as they kissed. She slid her hands over his back and pulled him down against her as her body was lifting to grind against his.

Jughead separated himself with effort, looking down at her with darkened eyes and quickened breath. Betty wasn’t sure why he’d suddenly stopped, until he said, “Betts, you had more to drink than usual. I don’t want to do anything that you wouldn’t usually do.”

She arched her back upward again, her body already missing the heat of him. When Jughead didn’t move, she realized that he was waiting for her response.

Betty licked her lips and said, “I’m not doing anything that I don’t want to do.”

He closed his eyes for a moment, seeming to gather himself. When he opened them again, he said, “It’s getting harder and harder to hold myself back with you. I don’t think you realize how much I fucking want you.”

Betty laughed at that, unable to hold back the giggle in her voice as she slurred, “I want to fuck you too.”

Jughead made a noise that she had to categorize somewhere between a moan and a growl, shoving his tongue against hers as he pressed her down again. She could feel his growing hardness against her and she intentionally rocked herself against him. For her efforts, she was rewarded when he gasped into her mouth.

He shifted his weight onto his right arm and slid his left hand along her bare side, fingers slipping under the edge of her shirt. As his hand drifted upward, Betty arched into his touch, urging him on.

He paused as his fingers found the crease beneath her breast. Caressing gently, he smirked and said, “Naughty girl, did you wear this shirt to tease me?”

She giggled again, nodding. “Yes,” she admitted. “Did you like it?”

Jughead slipped his hand over her breast, catching her nipple between two fingers. Betty gasped at the contact, her mind going utterly blank in response to the sensation. It echoed like a cord through her body, running from his fingers to her burning core. As he squeezed gently, making her writhe beneath him, he replied, “I did.”

Then he was kissing her jawline and the side of her neck, rolling her nipple between his fingers as he moved his mouth down her body. Betty lifted her hips against him again as he slipped his tongue across her breast, catching her stiffened peak between his lips.

As he attended to her breast with his mouth, he slid his other hand over its twin and teased. She whimpered with need, wriggling against him to encourage his attention elsewhere. Jughead looked up at her with a smirk before he nipped her sensitive flesh with his teeth.

Betty felt a primal moan lose itself from her lips at that sensation, which caused her to immediately develop a searing blush that fiercely lit up her face.

Jughead lifted himself away from her and tugged her tank top back into place. Kissing his way back up her neck, he lowered his mouth to her ear and said, “I can’t wait to hear you make that sound for me again, Betts. But first—“ he paused, and she wondered what sort of insane thing he would suggest that should come before that sort of pleasure—“I need to take you back to Veronica’s. And then on a date.”

She blinked in confusion, dizziness setting in as he sat back on the couch and helped her to straighten. As soon as Betty was sitting upright, the room began lurching worse than a ship in a storm at sea. “What?” she asked, unable to stop herself from pouting. Jughead looked at her with a small smile.

“A date, Betts. You know, technically we’ve only been on one? I have to fix that before we take this any further.”

Betty leaned against him and pressed her cheek onto his shoulder, more to stop the room from spinning than anything else. “But my contract—“

He shook his head. “Either way, Betty. A girl like you deserves that. I love you too much to take advantage of you like this.”

She would have shaken her head too, but she thought the world might never stop spinning if she did. She realized suddenly that she’d closed her eyes, and much more time had passed while they were closed than what usually passed during a blink. Jughead smoothed her hair away from her face, then slipped his arms under her and lifted her up from the couch.

Betty leaned her head against his chest as he carried her down the hall, then out the back of _The Snake Bite_. A car and driver were sitting there, with some of the band’s equipment conspicuously occupying the passenger seat. She deduced that Archie and Chuck must have given Veronica a ride home, and left this car for her. How nice of them.

Jughead tenderly set her in the back of the car, then spoke briefly with the driver. He slid in next to her, putting his arm around her shoulders. As the car angled onto the street, she leaned against him and let the movement slowly lull her eyes closed.

——————

When Betty curled up against his side in the car, Jughead pressed his cheek against the top of her head. Whatever she’d put in her hair was hard and somewhat sticky by that point in the evening, but being in contact with her for as long as he could was infinitely more important just then. He was thinking about the words they’d exchanged in the bar’s break room when a gentle, cat-like snore broke through his thoughts.

A slow smile spread across Jughead’s face. He wondered if she always snored adorably like this, or if it was because of the drinks she wasn’t used to having. Chasing that thought was a second, slightly more exciting, hoping that he would be able to find out.

Things were moving a bit faster between them than he would have liked, but Jughead felt as if everything about Betty was just so right there was no point in holding back. The more time he spent with her, the more he felt like they'd known each other for years. Something about the two of them just seemed to click. But until Veronica and Archie found out what Harold had in store for the violation of their contracts, he was willing to keep his relationship with Betty secret. He didn’t want to cause her any undue stress or worry. The more that things grew heated between them, though, the more that Jughead wished he could really treat her the way he wanted to all the time.

He’d mentioned taking her on a date, but they both knew that the logistics of their situation posed an insurmountable road block. Since she and Veronica had come over for dinner, he’d been running through ideas and casting them away one after the other as he evaluated the likelihood that they’d be seen together.

The driver turned into the parking structure of the building, waiting for a motorcycle to pass below the ticket barrier. Jughead watched it distantly, thinking of his own bike that was sitting in storage up state. Once, he’d thought about crossing the country on his bike, stopping whenever he felt like it to write until his money ran out. That was before he’d sacrificed nearly all of his savings, taken out a personal loan, driven his credit into the ground—the tragedy of his life went on, and he cut off his thoughts abruptly. Looking at the larger picture now, he was starting to tell himself that everything he’d gone through had at least led him to a place where he was able to fall in love with Betty Cooper. He’d never been an optimist, but he was willing to acknowledge that silver lining.

They parked, and Jughead considered whether or not to wake her up. Betty threw her arm across him at that moment, curling her hand around his side like he was a stuffed animal. It made something melt within him. He gently kissed her forehead, brushing her hair back from her face, and was rewarded with a mumble that sounded something like _Juggie…need you._

The driver was glancing impassively into the mirror, probably wondering why they hadn’t gotten out of the car yet. That spurred Jughead into action, though he could have held her as she slept for hours.

“Betty,” he said gently, shaking her opposite shoulder. Her face contorted into the cutest grimace he’d ever seen, and he had to resist the urge to kiss her furrowed brow. With another small shake, he repeated himself.

She blinked, looking up at him in momentary confusion. “Jughead?” she said, her voice weak. “Where are we?”

He replied, “Veronica’s.” Understanding dawned on her, and he opened his door to slide out. He offered Betty a steadying hand and helped her out of the car behind him. She stumbled, cursed softly, then sat back down on the edge of the seat.

“These shoes,” she grumbled, reaching to adjust them.

Jughead smirked and said, “Just take them off.” He understood why girls wore utterly impractical shoes, of course—and Betty’s look tonight had been incredible, in his opinion—but clearly the combination of the heels and alcohol had worked against her. Betty blinked up at him and opened her mouth to protest, but he added teasingly, “I’ll carry you.”

Her eyebrows rose. “Really?” she squeaked.

He hooked his arm under her knees and lifted her up, unable to stop himself from smiling as she threw her arms around his neck to steady herself. Jughead crossed the parking structure, easily carrying her bridal-style into the elevator. He hadn’t been to Veronica’s apartment yet, so he turned to allow Betty to press the button for the eleventh floor with her toe. She found that immensely funny, giggles bubbling out of her that shook her entire body in his arms. He thought that an intoxicated Betty giggling might have been one of his new favorite sounds.

They made their way along the hall of the eleventh floor. As they passed a doorway, Betty yelped, “That’s it!”

Jughead was laughing at her, now, too. He set her back on her feet and held onto her arm so that she could regain her balance. Betty knocked on the door and waited, leaning back against him for support. He couldn’t command his face to stop smiling a wide, idiotic grin as he let her lean on him. A moment before it opened, she reached over and slipped her hand around Jughead’s side. To his endless amusement, she cupped her hand around his denim-clad rear and squeezed.

“Betty,” he hissed, grabbing her wrist to extract himself from her grip. At that moment, Veronica opened the door.

Her eyes rapidly absorbed the scene in the hallway. For a moment, all three were frozen. Then Betty began giggling like a maniac again, breaking the silence.

“Ronnie—your face—“ she laughed, leaning forward and holding her stomach like she could hold back the giggles. Jughead leaned forward with her, his hand still on her arm, thinking that she might fall over.

“Hey,” he said to Veronica, feeling heat rise into his cheeks as he realized that she’d more than likely seen Betty groping at him.

She reached out when Betty went forward, steadying the blonde by her shoulders. Veronica looked utterly shocked. “Jughead, what happened? No, wait, first—come in here, before someone sees any of us.”

Veronica had changed into athletic shorts and a tank top. Her hair was piled on top of her head and secured with a clip. She’d washed away her makeup, and a bowl of salad was waiting on her modestly sized coffee table. She’d already turned on the TV, and Jughead noted in a glance that it was paused on a still from _The New Girl_. She must have stopped the streaming when she’d gone to answer the door.

She led Betty to a bedroom with Jughead trailing behind, his hand still on her arm for the sake of maintaining her balance. He noticed a few of her personal belongings on the beautifully modern oak dresser as they entered the room. This must be where Veronica was hosting her.

They led Betty to the edge of the bed and she sank onto the mattress with another giggle. Jughead wordlessly knelt down to began untying her shoes, slipping them gently off her feet. He saw Veronica watching him, a curious expression contorting her gaze. Jughead was thinking that it would be a fucking miracle at this point if she didn’t realize something was going on between them. When their eyes met, she disappeared quickly to the kitchen and returned with a water bottle.

“Here, B,” she said, opening the cap and pressing it into Betty’s hands.

The blonde shook her head. “It’s too cold,” she whined.

Jughead frowned at her. “Betts, you’ve got to have some water, or your head will be killing you tomorrow.” She regarded him seriously for a moment, then took a drink. Veronica was looking back and forth between them with a puzzled, now slightly suspicious expression. She opened her mouth like she was going to say something, but Betty chose that moment to pat Veronica on the cheek with one hand and dissolve into another fit of laughter. Jughead ignored her questioning brown eyes and asked, “Could you please get a warm washcloth? And her hairbrush?”

Veronica nodded, gently moving Betty’s hand away from her face. It definitely seemed like she hadn’t seen Betty like this before, since she was oscillating between curiosity and bewilderment. Jughead knew that people often focused better in unsettling situations when they had tasks to occupy themselves—a fact gleaned from too many emergencies, in his opinion. At least Veronica didn’t protest. She left the room briefly and gathered the items he’d asked for, and upon her return said, “Jughead Jones, I think there’s more to you than a knight in shining armor after all.”

He shrugged one shoulder. Carefully, he used the washcloth to wash Betty’s makeup away. She was giggling again, then trying to pull him onto the bed with her. Jughead patiently pushed her hands away and picked up the hairbrush, dropping the washcloth onto the floor. He held her hair as close to the roots as he could, pulling the hairbrush through whatever goop she’d sprayed into it. It wasn’t a replacement for a shower, but he doubted Betty would be able to handle that on her own at the moment, and Veronica’s suspicions would be more than confirmed if he joined her to help (he would consider that fantasy later).

She helped him get Betty tucked in beneath her comforter, which meant that he couldn’t give her any parting kisses. Before he straightened, she mumbled, “Love you, Juggie,” and closed her eyes, breathing becoming even.

Veronica was still only inches away from her when she said it. The brunette’s eyes widened and she stared at him, her mouth falling slightly open. Jughead brought his finger to his lips and jerked his head toward the door, silently pleading with her not to say anything yet.

He followed her out of the room, mind racing as he tried to decide what on earth he was going to say to Veronica.

——————

Betty blinked, feeling like someone was shining a spotlight directly into her retinas. As soon as she moved, she felt her stomach lurching in a tell-tale shift that made her clamp her lips together and freeze.

When she next dared to try, she realized that there was no avoiding what was about to happen. Betty threw her legs over the side of the bed and dashed quickly toward the bathroom, kicking the door shut behind herself. Her knees hit the tile with an icy burst of pain and she pitched forward as she emptied her stomach into the toilet.

She groped for the handle immediately before she inhaled. Another heave overcame her, exorcising the writhing contents of her stomach. Once she’d thrown up everything she could, she flushed a second time. Then she rose unsteadily and brushed her wrist over her mouth.

Her head was still pounding and the vanity lights felt more like lasers as they pierced her eyes. Betty splashed cold water over her face and reached for her toothbrush. Brushing her teeth felt good, at least. Unexpectedly, there was a sound at the door. She glanced over, her body jolting in surprise as she saw her boyfriend leaning against the frame.

“Jug?” she said, her voice trembling. She didn’t want him to see her like this. Her hair looked like a bird had roosted in it, purple circles hung below her eyes, and she was immediately terrified that her breath still smelled like vomit. It was an utterly irrational fear, as her mouth was full of toothpaste. She leaned over and spit, a blush spreading over her face as she felt his eyes on her.

Her mind still wasn’t fully able to reconcile the fact that it was morning and he was in Veronica’s apartment, either. He stepped toward her, his expression purely concerned. “You feeling okay, Betts? Here, I brought you some water.” He held out a water bottle, the corner of his mouth rising reassuringly.

She took it and drank. Jughead opened the mirror and withdrew a bottle of Advil, twisting the top off and shaking two out into the palm of his hand. He offered them to Betty. She gratefully popped them into her mouth and washed them down with another gulp of cold water. Drawing in a steadying breath, she flashed a tentative smile. “Thanks, Jug,” she said softly. “Are we at Veronica’s? Where is she?”

Jughead said elusively, “Oh, she’s here.”

Betty frowned. She remembered the previous evening almost entirely, though she would have a difficult time finding words to describe the exact sensation of the endless dizziness that washed over her after she’d had her drinks. Veronica and Jughead had tucked her into bed. Then why hadn’t he gone back to Archie’s? Did Veronica know about the two of them?

She settled for asking, “What happened?”

He looked at her, suddenly more concerned. “Do you not remember?” he asked. “I know you had more than you’re used to—but did you black out?”

Betty shook her head, feeling her blush return in full force. “No, I remember,” she admitted. “I’m just wondering what happened after I went to bed.” She had the notion that Jughead had tucked her in with Veronica’s help.

“Well, you sort of told her about us,” he said carefully, watching her face. “Unless I lied directly to Veronica, the cat was out of the bag. I told her she’d have to ask you for details, though. So I guess you can tell her whatever you want, Betty.”

Even though her heart was pounding at the idea of discussing this with Veronica, part of Betty felt relieved. Had this been what it felt like for her friends when she’d caught them together a few weeks ago? Keeping their secret had felt good in a small, vindictive way, but Betty was looking forward to being able to discuss her life with her best friend again. Even though Veronica had kept a huge part of her own life a secret, Betty was used to sharing everything with her friend. Not telling her about Jughead felt almost like a betrayal—which Veronica deserved, after keeping her own secrets—but knowing that she had found out the truth relieved all of those anxieties at last.

Jughead was looking at her as her thoughts raced, his expression searching. He looked like he was worried that she would be upset about what he'd said. That couldn't have been farther from the truth. Betty reached out and drew him to her, running her fingers over his cheek to reassure him. With a relieved smile, she said, “I’ll talk to her, Jug. Thank you.”

The tension visibly left him. “Oh, good. I thought you’d be angry.”

Betty shrugged, shaking her head slightly. “Honestly, not at all. I hate keeping this a secret from everyone.” She paused, a memory from last night rising to the forefront of her mind. “Did you brush my hair last night?” she asked, wondering if she’d dreamed it. Jughead nodded, running his hand through her golden tresses and trailing his fingers along the back of her neck. She leaned into his touch, but she didn’t want to kiss him while she still felt so nauseous. Instead, she said, “Thank you. Veronica must have used a whole can of hairspray, but I don’t remember it hurting.”

He smiled a bit at that. “I have a younger sister,” he admitted. “When we were kids, I took care of her a lot. It wasn’t the first time I brushed someone’s hair.”

The confession took her by surprise. Somehow, knowing how tender he could be, the information itself wasn’t surprising. She was never sure when Jughead was going to say some absolutely personal tidbit of information about his life that completely melted her heart. At the same time, she was almost painfully aware that there were still so many things she didn’t know about him. Betty kept hoping that she would have enough time with Jughead to uncover it all.

Given the way she’d been thinking of him lately, she felt that her wish could probably come true. It was like every moment they spent together was making her fall hopelessly in love with him—and unlike her past relationships, there was something about Jughead that made it feel right. Betty knew logically that they’d only been dating for a short number of weeks, but the more she let him into her heart, the more it felt like they’d been together for years. She knew that she should be worried about feeling that way, but it was too difficult to care when she felt so at peace with him.

Her traitorous stomach gurgled at that moment, bringing a blush to her cheeks and a smile to his face. Betty tucked her hair behind her ear and said, “Let’s go find some breakfast. Is Veronica up?”

————————

Veronica’s chef prepared breakfast bowls for them. Jughead was always a believer in the remedy of a heavy breakfast after a night of drinking, and apparently the chef concurred. Even though he knew Betty had been sick already, it was important to get some food into her, with plenty of water. He’d nursed enough hangovers in his life to know these things, at least.

He dug a fork into his bowl. Hash browns lined the bottom, layered with eggs and bacon, then a sprinkling of melted cheese. Jughead covered the whole thing in ketchup, occupying himself with eating as Betty and Veronica discussed what had happened the night before. Below Veronica’s large dining table, he nudged his foot against Betty’s in quiet support. A glance of her beautiful green eyes told him that she’d noticed, and appreciated it.

“So you’re dating,” Veronica repeated evenly, looking at Betty. She’d hardly touched her food—apparently, their discussion was more important.

Betty nodded, her cheeks tinged pink. “Yes, V, and I’m sorry I didn’t tell you. I’ve just been so worried about everything going on—“

“Harold,” Veronica interrupted, like she was reading Betty’s mind. The blonde nodded solemnly, confirming what she’d said. She tapped her finger against her lips thoughtfully, looking over at Jughead. “Me and Archie are one thing, and I’m hoping that he can find a way to deal with that. But you’re technically working _for_ us. If Harold doesn’t like this, he could just fire you.”

Jughead had thought of the same thing when the connection between himself and Betty was still just forming. He wasn’t as worried about that now as he had been before, but it was still an unpleasant possibility. The worst thing about being fired would be the difficulty it would create in their lives—not many jobs would allow him to travel with the band, and the choices he’d made when he was younger still limited the number of job opportunities that were remotely viable.

To answer Veronica, he said, “I know that could happen. But I’m not worried about myself.”

She smiled slightly, as if she’d been looking for confirmation that he prioritized Betty over himself. Veronica looked over at his girl and said, “I think you’ll be fine, B. The fans love you, Harold loves you…it will just be a shock when he realizes that your mom isn’t pulling your strings any more.”

Betty’s mouth was full of food, but at that reminder her eyes widened in panic. She swallowed quickly and said, “Oh god, my mom. If she finds out, she’s going to lose her mind.”

Jughead frowned slightly at that, thinking back to the morning he’d briefly seen Betty’s mom before she’d been thrown out. “I thought you were on bad terms?” he asked, confused.

It was Veronica who answered first. “It’s complicated,” she supplied. “Just like things are complicated between my parents and I.”

He found that interesting. The Lodges were old money, and from all public accounts they supported Veronica’s career decision as wholeheartedly as Archie’s parents. Whatever Veronica meant by that statement, it wasn’t public knowledge. He didn't think it was his place to say anything, though, so he put a fork full of food in his mouth and buried any sort of response.

Betty sighed. “I love my mom, but she still doesn’t realize that I’m an adult. In a way, I feel bad for her.”

That made more sense. Jughead couldn’t empathize directly, without having a mother in his life, but he couldn’t keep his mind from turning instantly to his relationship with his father. In a way, it was the same mentality that had gotten FP into the world of trouble he’d been forced to face. To Betty, he said, “I get what you’re saying.”

Veronica pursed her lips thoughtfully. She checked her phone, then set it on the table. “Well, the good news is that tomorrow is our meeting with Harold,” she announced. “We’ll negotiate new contracts before we worry about letting him know.”

Betty nodded, looking relieved. “Yes, I was hoping that we could do that,” she said.

Her bare toes curled over the top of Jughead’s socked foot as she spoke, sending what was tantamount to an electric current to his brain. He cleaned out his bowl, trying not to meet her eyes and fuel any more of his desire. If the meeting was tomorrow, that meant that they could very well be back to work before the end of the week. Fans had been protesting their brief hiatus online ever since Harold had put a hold on the tour. Some of the venues they’d lined up were completely sold out.

Rarity worked just as well as a publicity stunt, he supposed. As soon as they’d begun rescheduling tour dates, it was like people across the country had started buying up tickets for the remaining shows.

He realized that if he was going to do anything about the promise he'd made in the break room at Toni's the night before, today was his day.

Jughead got up, taking his bowl into the kitchen. Betty and Veronica were talking quietly after he left, their voices hushed. He gathered from their half-whispered words that they were probably talking about the more intimate details of the relationship they’d been hiding. It was a good time to go back to Archie’s, then.

He checked his phone and saw a few text messages from his friend. Jughead realized that he needed to thank Archie for using his poem the night before, too. Now that he’d made sure Betty was okay, it was time to get his day going. He ordered an uber before he rejoined the girls in the dining room.

They both looked up as he casually said, “I’m going to go and change. Betty, do you have any plans today?”

She glanced at Veronica, who shook her head minutely. “Not really,” she said, tilting her head slightly in curiosity.

He smiled. “Good. I’ll be back later.”

And since there was no reason not to do it, he leaned down and kissed her.

—————————

Betty extracted herself from Veronica’s interrogation by insisting that she needed to have a shower. Her hair felt like Barbie doll hair since it was still coated in glittering spray from the night before. It was increasingly itching against her neck, and so Veronica’s questions about Jughead would just have to wait.

She stepped into the steaming water of the shower, immediately shampooing her scalp. Once she’d washed away the bubbles and her hair was starting to feel like human hair again, she poured conditioner into her hand and worked it in.

Betty couldn’t help thinking of the intimacy she’d shared with Jughead the night before. Recalling the way their bodies had responded to one another, she felt a rush of relief that he’d behaved like a true gentleman and refused to take advantage of her—despite, as her burning cheeks recalled, her demanding otherwise. The natural ease with which they’d slid into their relationship gave Betty the confidence to keep going with him, but she didn’t want to be delirious when they took that final step together. She had a feeling that it would be an experience she wanted to remember in exquisite detail.

She stepped out of the shower and wrapped a towel around her hair. Betty slipped into a pair of stonewashed denim jeans, clasping a tan leather belt around her hips. She found a sweater in her bags that she didn’t completely hate—a grey one, with a yellow crown at the center.

Letting down her hair from the towel, she found Veronica’s blow dryer and set about styling. Since they’d been on break, she’d been enjoying wearing her hair down rather than schooling it into the ponytail that her mother was so fond of. Betty brushed her hair as she dried it, working in a few soft curls. She evaluated herself in the mirror and began applying some light makeup, brushing mascara over her eyelashes and tinting her lips with a light layer of red balm.

When she came out of the guest suite, Veronica was curled up on the couch with a book. She looked up as Betty emerged, smiling lightly.

“I’m going to meet Archie this afternoon for a date,” she announced, unable to hide her excitement. Betty smiled back—Veronica’s happiness was often infectious. “Do you mind entertaining yourself for the day, B? I’m sure Jughead will be back soon.”

The reminder sent a pleasant jolt of anticipation through Betty. She was smiling genuinely now herself as she nodded in response to Veronica’s question. “Yeah, I’ll be fine. Go have fun,” she said. Unspoken between them hung the simple fact that their lives might become even more complicated tomorrow, when Harold Fry announced whatever scheme he’d thought of with their team. Betty wasn’t going to let herself become overwhelmed with anxiety so soon, though.

Veronica left shortly, after checking her always perfect makeup and touching up her hair. Checking her text messages, Betty was disappointed to see that Jughead hadn’t sent her anything since he’d left.

She stretched out on the couch, alone in the apartment. It was pleasantly quiet, none of the sounds of the city penetrating into the building at that time of day. Betty closed her eyes, still feeling a little run down and hung over. Breakfast had helped, but she hoped that she’d be feeling completely recovered sooner than later.

She felt like she’d just closed her eyes when there was a knock at the apartment door. Stomach bubbling in anticipation of seeing Jughead, she clicked the lock aside and turned the handle without hesitation.

Betty didn’t have time to react as someone pushed their way into the apartment. She stumbled backward as they shoved her, the door swinging closed behind them. Her phone slipped out of her hand and bounced on the carpet, mouth falling open as she recognized the intruder.

“What are you doing here?” she demanded, heart pounding as she gaped at Trent.

It felt like he was towering over her, and she realized dimly that she’d leaned against the arm of the couch after he’d pushed her. He folded his arms, glaring down in response.

“Stopping you from making a complete ass of yourself, and the rest of us,” he snapped.

Betty was absolutely baffled by his words. She blinked, looking up at him in confusion. “What?” she asked, unable to think of anything else to say.

He leaned down, still glaring. “I know what you did yesterday,” he said, almost spitting the words in his fury. Betty’s heart was hammering. Was this about Jughead? How had Trent found out what they’d done in a locked break room behind the bar? She felt a wash of panic spread into every ounce of her frame, feeling suddenly like she was unable to catch her breath. Now was not the time for another anxiety attack, but she was too terrified to calm herself down.

Gasping, she said, “How did you find out about us?”

Trent looked at her like she was stupid. “Online, of course.”

Betty’s mind raced. Online? How could someone be getting these photographs? Had her mother seen? Had Harold? Who was stalking her—because that was what this had to be, right? A stalker?

In response to her silence, as if he took it as an admission of guilt, Trent said, “Fans were recording. I don’t know what sort of stupid shit you’re thinking of doing, but you’re not going to replace me.”

His words made absolutely no sense. Replace him? Was Trent living some sort of fantasy where he and Betty would become a couple to compliment the relationship between Archie and Veronica? She gasped for air, trying to recover enough to still her beating heart. The beat was thudding in her ears. It sounded like it was going to knock its way out of her sternum. Still confused by his meaning, she said, “What are you talking about?”

He shook his head in disgust. “That fucking show, Betty, what else? God, are you really this fucking stupid? I must have misjudged you.”

It clicked, then. He wasn’t talking about Jughead, or her—but the band, the show they’d put on without him. Fans had been taking video—of course. Was she losing her mind, jumping to those sort of conclusions?

Before she could respond, the door opened. She’d left it unlocked when Trent had forced his way inside, she realized. What she’d thought was the sound of her heart had been literal knocking—

Her thoughts were abruptly interrupted as Jughead caught Trent by the shoulder and pulled him away from Betty. “What the fuck are you doing?” he demanded, glaring at the drummer. Betty was able to straighten, pushing herself off the arm of the couch and standing up unsteadily.

Trent looked unhinged as he regarded Jughead, then looked over at Betty. “Are you fucking serious?” he demanded. “You’re really trash, Betty. Truly. So you’re fucking a gang leader, now? Could you be any more of a whore?”

It all happened instantly. Jughead’s fist collided solidly with his face, knocking him to the ground. He leaned down and grabbed a handful of Trent’s shirt, lifting him up. Betty’s hands flew to her mouth as she saw a huge bruise blossoming over the drummer’s cheek and eye. Jughead’s expression was terrifying as he glared into Trent’s face and said, “Get the fuck out of here. Don’t ever speak to her that way again.”

The drummer started laughing, a hand rising to cover the damage that Jughead's fist had inflicted. He looked up at Jughead with that eerily calm gaze and said, “You’re fired, Jones. I’ll tell Harold all of this, and you’ll never work again.”

He was still hanging from a handful of his shirt in Jughead’s grasp. They stared at each other momentarily with unbridled fury. A small half-gasp, half-scream slipped from Betty’s lips as Jughead suddenly produced a knife seemingly from nowhere. It fluidly flipped open in his hand with a sickening click. He released Trent’s shirt, letting him drop back against the ground. As the drummer’s head hit the carpet, he said, “You say one fucking word, and you’re dead. So you think you know me? I don’t know how you got your information, but you made a huge miscalculation. You have no idea what I’m capable of.”

Trent regarded him, a flicker of fear crossing his face for the first time since Betty had known him. She watched as he stared back at Jughead for a moment, before finally giving in and averting his eyes. It was like that simple action was a forfeit in their fight. As soon as it happened, Jughead closed his knife and it disappeared as quickly as it had been in his hand. The knife vanished so fast, Betty wondered madly if she’d imagined it. She’d been having a panic attack before he’d arrived, after all.

“This isn’t over,” Trent snapped, pushing himself up off the ground. Jughead stood up, moving back to let the drummer get up too.

He shook his head. “It’s over, Trent. As easily as you could report what happened here to Harold, I can explain that I was just protecting Betty. You weren’t exactly talking nicely when I got here, were you?”

They regarded each other in silent fury after that, neither one looking away. Betty lowered her hands, realizing in that moment that she had the power to intervene. She narrowed her eyes at Trent and said, “You’re done threatening me. I can tell Harold stories, too. Don’t forget that we _hired_ you too. We can replace you whenever we want.”

He looked at her in alarm, then. True alarm, which she could read plainly in every inch of his expression. Trent slowly held up his hands.

“Fine. I’m leaving. We’ll agree not to say anything, then,” he said. Still looking at Betty, he added, “I’ve just been trying to help. The three of you have no idea how unprofessional you’ve been lately.”

She shook her head. “Get out, Trent. When I want your advice, I’ll fucking ask for it.”

He left quickly, letting the door swing closed behind himself. Betty took a deep breath, staring at it after it had shut. With immense mental effort, she willed her body to walk to the door and turn the lock.

When she turned, Jughead was standing in the living room and regarding her with uncertainty. “Well, fuck,” he said.

————————

The highway was fairly clear, with only a few cars cruising among scarce semi trucks. Hardly the sort of traffic one dealt with in the city proper. As Jughead veered his bike toward the exit, he felt Betty’s arms tighten around his waist. Beneath the mirrored visor of her helmet, she was virtually unrecognizable. He’d planned that on purpose, trying to maintain some semblance of privacy for her—especially since he’d needed to rescue her from that creepy fuck, Trent.

She’d had another panic attack in the living room after he’d cleared Trent out of the apartment. Sinking onto the couch, she’d braced her elbows on her knees and held her head between her hands as she struggled to catch her breath. Jughead was afraid to touch her that time, worried that he was just as much the cause of her panic as Trent had been. What had he been thinking, pulling his knife like that? But when he heard Trent insulting Betty, something within him had just snapped. Something dark within him had reared its head, and Jughead was terrified that it had frightened her away, too.

She’d finally looked up. “Thank you,” she said, her eyes teary and fragile. That told him at least that she wasn’t upset about what he’d done, and knowing that filled him with a profound sense of relief. Jughead reached out then, gently allowing himself to caress her shoulder. Betty blinked, then lifted her chin before she asserted, “You need to explain, Jughead Jones.”

This wasn’t how he’d imagined inundating her in the tragedy of his past, but he knew that she was right. Jughead had been planning to take her out on the motorcycle he’d borrowed from Toni for the afternoon, pick up a few orders of carry out, then take her south of town for an oceanside picnic. Now, it wouldn’t be the romantic date he’d been hoping for, not after what had happened in the apartment, but maybe disclosing his past was something more important for their future. Betty hadn’t seemed scared after she’d calmed down. In fact, when he’d suggested that they leave the apartment to talk, her eyes had lit up with excitement.

His mind was racing, sorting details of his life into two distinct categories: tell her and don’t tell her. For now, the can of worms that was his father would definitely be too much for her to handle. But fucking Trent had shared the most important thing that Jughead had been planning to tell her himself, when the time was right. He had been thinking it the night before, when she’d been begging him to satisfy her body. If he’d taken off his shirt, she would have seen. Maybe she wouldn’t have realized what she was looking at, but he knew that he’d need to explain anyway.

He imagined all the different ways that she might react, the Betty in his mind ranging the gamut from hysterical to calm. In the world he’d grown up in, the things he’d done were hardly out of the ordinary. But Jughead had read enough and been away long enough to realize that the world he’d grown up in wasn’t the same as the world everyone else knew. Other kids weren’t trained in physical, mental, and verbal warfare like he’d been growing up. Other kids didn’t need to be. They had people sheltering them as they grew.

Maybe that was how he’d present the situation to her, now that he thought of it. He’d been on his own for as long as he could remember, relying only upon himself, unable to trust even those people that were supposed to be looking out for him. It wasn’t a lie—despite the way he’d organically grown into the lifestyle he’d lived during his teenage years, at the time he’d been so certain that he had no other choice.

Jughead wondered what Betty was thinking as they cruised along a pretty tree-lined highway. Their method of transportation was certainly intimate, but it didn’t allow for any conversation. The branches of the trees were halfway through budding, some already sprouting their summer leaves. After the doldrums of winter, it was a welcome change.

He pulled into the drive of the state park, slowing down on the gravel road. Shortly, he found a small parking lot and selected a spot where Toni’s bike would be safe. Jughead let Betty climb off the bike first, then swung his leg over and slid his helmet off his head. He shook out his hair, drawing his beanie from the pocket of his leather jacket and replacing it atop his head. Originally, he’d been worried about wearing the jacket in front of Betty, thinking that it would naturally lead them around to the conversation he’d been planning to have with her. But Trent’s revelation had forced his hand, and when Betty saw Jughead take it out of the bag on the back of the bike in the parking structure, she’d simply watched with interest. That had confirmed that she wouldn’t have realized what his tattoo meant, at least.

“This reminds me of my hometown,” Betty commented lightly, looking around. “I didn’t know that this park was here.”

Jughead smiled lightly in response. “It reminds me of my hometown, too,” he replied.

She took his hand and laced her fingers through his, tucking her other hand into the pocket of her jeans. Jughead led her toward a forested pathway, carrying a rolled camp blanket under his other arm. They walked in comfortable silence.

He pulled her into a clearing. From the permanent grill and the trash bin waiting them there, it looked like it had long ago been established as a picnic spot. Jughead spread out his blanket and gestured, allowing Betty to settle onto the blanket first. She smiled up at him and leaned back, tilting her chin up as high as she could to see the tops of the trees above them. Her head rested on one arm, blonde hair fanning onto the blanket above her.

Jughead fit himself against her side and leaned over, pressing a chaste kiss against the edge of her jaw. She closed her eyes and smiled easily. “Jug,” she said, eyes still shut. “Tell me about growing up. What you did before I met you.” He didn’t immediately respond, and that caused her to straighten and meet his eyes resolutely. Her voice level, Betty said, “Tell me what Trent was talking about.”

He let out a breath, mostly to release his own nerves. In the leather that had covered him like a second skin for years, it seemed almost absurd to have to explain. But whatever Betty’s childhood had been like, it was obvious that her parents kept her willfully ignorant of people like him. Jughead shrugged out of his jacket, laying it carefully on the blanket behind them. He set his beanie on top of it next. Straightening his back, he grabbed the hem of his shirt and tugged it over his head. The cool spring air bit at his skin, making goosebumps rise along his arms. Betty watched, her eyebrows raising at the sight of his exposed torso.

She reached out hesitantly, and he knew right away that she was looking at his scars. Jughead held still while he let her carefully trace them, outlining the pattern of the pain he’d endured what felt like so long ago—but really, wasn’t far enough past for all the scars to look fully faded. Some were still red around the edges, angry.

“He was right, Betty. I used to lead a gang,” he said, looking away at the trees. Her fingers froze on the scar under his ribs, where he’d been stabbed after his junior prom. It was one of the worst—he’d gotten stitches from the gang’s nurse practitioner that night, after they cleared everyone out of his dad’s bar. They’d put her through medical school expressly for the purpose of avoiding hospitals, cops, and questions.

Betty lifted her fingers away. Then she carefully touched the shoulder where his ink curled over the rippled flesh of the burn he’d gotten in middle school, when a rival gang had threatened him to force his dad to forfeit their territory. That summer, while his dad served a short prison sentence for the fallout of that particular skirmish, Toni’s cousin had transformed the scars with his first tattoo. A snake curled over the burn, its mouth open to bare its fangs in preparation for a strike.

She met his eyes when he looked back at her. Whatever darkness he was recalling from his past, his expression didn’t seem to frighten her. Betty surprised him as she rolled onto her side and slid her leg over his. She turned his face with one hand and kissed him. When she pulled her lips away, she looked down at him and said, “Jug, tell me everything.”

He frowned up at her—he couldn’t help it. Talking about his past went against his grain. Either people had been there and they knew what had happened, or he’d made it an unspoken rule that he kept everyone else an arm’s length from the demons chained in his memory. But he’d already decided to let Betty into that dungeon, and he kept hoping desperately that she wouldn’t bolt screaming after she got a good look around. Jughead took a deep breath, steadying his nerves. Leaning into the hand she still tenderly pressed against his cheek, he began to speak.

——————

Betty knew that she led a sheltered, privileged life. She was aware that other people struggled with hunger, with homelessness, with drugs and violence, with abandonment…empirically, all those things unfortunately did happen. Listening to Jughead talk about his childhood, though, she was struck with the realization that sometimes bad things didn’t happen in isolation. Sometimes, people got more than their fair share of bad luck. As he spoke, she couldn’t stop the tears from pouring out of her eyes when her heart broke for his.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter: the band has their meeting, someone gets a nasty surprise, and someone is fired.


	8. Consequences

Betty, Archie, and Veronica sat in a small conference room within the Midtown Hilton. The recently publicized couple was seated next to each other, their clasped hands resting on the surface of the table between them. Betty was leaning back in her chair, looking down at her phone. 

**J: Are you going to tell them?**

It was an innocent enough question. Betty just couldn’t formulate her response. She wanted to see what Harold Fry said to Archie and Veronica before she made her decision about announcing her relationship with Jughead. Things had been admittedly moving very quickly between them—had it only really been weeks?—but Betty felt so _safe_ around him. It was a luxury she hadn’t encountered often in her life. Nearly everyone she could think of—Archie, Veronica, even _Reggie_ included—always came with some sort of mental baggage. She was always worrying about how she presented herself, how she spoke, how they might interpret what she was doing or saying, what they might think of her. Was it a paranoia born of years spent with her mother—constantly feeding worries into her ear, poisoning every social interaction she observed, suffocating Betty with her own agenda? Maybe. And maybe that was why she felt so strongly about Jughead—he was one person that her mother hadn’t evaluated. Since Betty had sent her home, everything she’d done had been of her own volition. It was equal parts exhilarating and freeing.

Though they’d arranged this meeting to re-negotiate their contracts, and that was their top priority, Betty had shared the details of Trent’s attack with her friends as soon as she and Jughead returned from the park. Archie and Veronica had been both outraged and horrified. Seeing that Betty was physically unscathed, they’d agreed that they would need to talk to Harold about possibly obtaining a different drummer. Though he presented a formidable front, the trio truly held the decision making power in terms of who they were willing to work with. Betty just hoped she could remember that when Harold reacted to their request.

As she stared at her phone, another message buzzed into her fingers. She couldn’t help smiling as she read it.

**J: I love you, you’ll be fine. Just tell me how it goes.**

She was starting to love the way that Jughead let her make her own choices, supporting whatever they were. He had yet to push her once about the secrecy surrounding their relationship. And after everything she’d learned about him the previous afternoon, she found it so much easier to forgive the decisions he’d made in the past. Sure, finding out that he’d taken over a gang as a teenager was alarming. Betty had some romanticized notions of what exactly that meant, but she was sure that her imagination probably wasn’t running wild when she lighted on the fact that his past involved _crimes_. But so many more things made sense upon discovering that critical component of his past—the way he knew how to intimidate people, for one. The way he’d unflinchingly threatened Trent, as another. 

Jughead wasn’t exactly a bodybuilder, either (though she thought that in no way was any sort of failing), so his position as their bouncer made more sense as well. Harold must know something about him, about the things he'd done, that qualified him for their protection. Betty had realized the day before that the lifting he’d been doing during the tour as he helped fans escape from the front of the crowd had served as a daily workout, and he’d indeed filled out a bit more beneath the anonymity of his T-shirts than she’d expected. She closed her eyes briefly while Archie and Veronica talked, leaning back in her chair, a particular half-naked individual swimming over the inside of her eyelids. His scars and tattoos made him look even more attractive, she’d decided. They tied the dangerous side of him to a personality that otherwise consisted of intellectual cynicism, deep-rooted care, and puppy-like enthusiasm. She wondered if this bit of information was the secret that Veronica had been pondering ever since their trinity of friendship had swollen to become a quartet.

The door of the conference room opened and their number immediately doubled. Betty opened her eyes at the sound, sitting up straight in her chair. Harold Fry, Mary Andrews, and Trent walked through the door, in that order. They said their greetings to the founding members of the band, each one remaining completely professional. Even when it came to Archie’s Mom, this was just business.

When everyone was seated, Harold regarded them without any unpleasantness in his gaze. Betty even felt compelled to smile in greeting to him. Surprising no one, he spoke first. “We would like to get this resolved today, and resume the tour tomorrow,” Harold announced.

Betty nodded in agreement. She felt relieved—some part of her had been worried that Harold would cancel the entire tour. It would be a bad move, where their profits were concerned. He might have been unhappy with them, and he might have complicated their lives unnecessarily, but there was no denying that he’d been a huge part of what had gotten them the breaks that led to their success. The trio had already decided the night before that they weren’t going to fire Harold Fry—not unless he became irrationally unreasonable with them.

“Good, Harold. We’re all in agreement so far,” Veronica purred, regarding him levelly. She was still holding Archie’s hand on the table.

Harold eyed them, something in his right cheek twitching, but he didn’t say anything. It was Mary who spoke next.

“I got the information from all of you concerning your contract amendment. It won’t be a problem to adjust the terms of your PR agreements to reflect your current life choices. In fact, the team only had one point of contention,” she explained, laying three folders on the table and sliding them over to Betty, Veronica, and Archie.

Betty frowned and asked, “What is it?”

She didn’t miss the triumphant smile on Harold’s face as he leaned back in his chair. Mary looked at her apologetically and said, “Harold and Francine agreed that it would be too much change to the brand if they confirmed the relationship and changed your style at the same time. It’s something that will have to be done in the future.”

As good as that news might have been for Archie and Veronica, the following catch filled Betty with a sudden overpowering frustration that brought her fingers curling into her palms and knotted her stomach unpleasantly. Veronica frowned and leaned forward, looking like she was about to say something in defense of her friend, but Betty spoke first. It was her battle to win, after all.

“No deal, Mary,” she protested, shaking her head. “I’m not letting anyone dress me any more. Francine needs to meet with me so that we can revise the PR plan together.”

Mary smiled lightly in response, probably trying to be reassuring. “That can happen, Betty, but it’s not in the paperwork for today. Harold proposed that it would make the most sense to finish this tour as you began it, and then revise your agreement before your third album is released.”

She looked over at Veronica and Archie. They were trying to remain impassive, but Betty knew them both well enough to catch the expressions of worry on their faces. If she fought this, it could drag things out even further than they already had been. Still, Mary’s explanation made sense, she begrudgingly admitted to herself. They’d created posters advertising their tour, appeared on talk shows for interviews, produced album artwork—there were even Halloween costumes being put together for each of them, which fans could order online. Betty’s costume consisted of a foam hat that looked like a blonde ponytail, a cardboard bass guitar, and a felt dress printed to look like a pink sweater with a pearled collar over a black pencil skirt. Instinctually, she knew that they were right. Veronica reached over with her other hand and took Betty’s, her wide brown eyes trying to emote something that Betty couldn’t interpret without words. Veronica imperceptibly pressed her lips together and lightly squeezed her fingers. She couldn’t be completely sure, but she thought that her best friend was offering her support.

Betty sighed. The situation was just stacked against her, and there was no avoiding it. She said, “Fine. That makes sense, I guess. But after the tour, I want that meeting with Francine. We can adjust our marketing over the summer. Can you note that in the paperwork?”

Mary nodded, already writing. Knowing that she would soon be able to erase her mother’s influence from her professional life gave Betty the closure she needed to accept her present situation. She let out a breath and smiled reassuringly over at Veronica and Archie. They both flashed her sympathetic looks, but everyone in the room knew that her decision had been in their best interests.

So with their first large order of business taken care of, the trio set about reading their revised contracts and signing where they needed to. After looking over Mary’s handwritten note, Betty carefully inked her name in looping cursive over each line. It was hardly the signature she used for the fans—she liked the name on her contracts to be completely legible. Betty didn’t miss the fact that Trent didn’t sign anything new—apparently, he’d already spoken with Harold and gotten his paperwork. She’d been avoiding looking at him since he’d come into the room, his black eye unmistakable. 

Harold leaned forward in his chair, placing his elbows on the table and resting his chin on his hands. Betty saw the motion and knew immediately that their meeting wasn’t over—he had something more to say. Mary glanced at him before clearing her throat with a little cough, apparently taking his cue.

“Harold has hired a security company,” she announced. “They’ll join you for the rest of the tour. Trent issued a complaint against the current employee, and filed for a restraining order. Apparently, he was attacked.”

Three outraged voices spoke at once.

“That is not what happened—“

“You fucking maniac—“

“You can’t do this—“

All three bit back their words and looked at each other, trying to gauge who would speak. Betty won, turning to regard Harold directly.

“Sorry, Harold. Whatever Trent told you, it’s not true. He came to Veronica’s apartment and attacked me yesterday. If Jughead hadn’t been there, I’m not sure what would have happened,” she said evenly, trying to make sure that she didn’t raise her voice again. She kept her gaze focused on her manager, willing her body to remain calm. Even so, she could feel her heartbeat in her neck.

Harold frowned. “Betty, what was Jughead doing there?” he asked. Not, ‘are you okay’ or ‘did he hurt you’ or ‘what did he say,’ she noted dryly. After the mess that they’d gotten into with Archie and Veronica, that simple question told her more definitively than anything else during the meeting that she needed to keep her relationship with Jughead to herself a while longer. After all, Betty was still maintaining Harold’s image for the fans.

Archie answered before Betty could. “I let him stay with me during the tour break,” he announced. “Most of the staff has been traveling far from home. Since we’ve gotten to know him because of the incidents lately, he’s become a friend.” She could have kissed the ginger-headed genius. He’d effectively taken all the pressure off Betty to cover for Jughead, offering Harold a plausible explanation for his presence in the apartment.

“We want him gone, Harold,” Veronica asserted, glaring at Trent across the table. She’d finally voiced the decision they’d reached the night before. Again, since Betty didn’t have to say it herself, she felt like her friends were truly sticking up for her. She was flooded with an overwhelming feeling of gratitude and affection toward Archie and Veronica. Not for the first time in her life, Betty felt like she was lucky to have such amazing best friends at her side.

Trent scoffed back at Veronica. “You can’t do that, Veronica,” said the drummer.

Mary’s lips twitched in response, perhaps fighting a smile. “Actually, they can, Trent,” she said. “If all three are in agreement, then Harold has to acquiesce.”

At those words, Archie smiled in relief. Betty echoed the expression, the tension leaving her as well. She knew what Archie was going to say as soon as he opened his mouth to address their manager. “Okay, Harold. We’re in agreement. Trent threatened Betty, and we can’t work with him any more.”

Harold glared over at Trent, his entire demeanor transformed into one of disgust. It seemed like he’d been completely unaware of the real situation that had occured the day before. Betty wasn’t sure what sort of explanation Trent might have given him, but clearly he hadn’t entertained the notion that the drummer might have distorted the truth. She was gratified to see that Harold finally looked offended on her behalf, at least. He sputtered for a moment before he managed to say, “What a mess. Get out, now.”

Trent rose and slammed both hands down on the table, staring down at Harold in open fury. “You can’t do this,” he said, his voice choked. “I’ll sue. I have a contract.”

That was when Mary spoke again. “It would be a waste of time, Trent. You threatened Betty, and there’s a witness. Whatever injuries you sustained were a result of your own actions. From now on, I suggest that you carefully evaluate the way that you approach women. Especially women that you work with.” She paused, then added an extremely satisfying, “Your behavior was absolutely unprofessional.”

He was shaking with anger, but there was hardly anything he could say in response. Meeting Betty’s eyes for a long moment, he rose from his chair and stalked out of the room. The door slammed in his wake.

Harold let out a long breath. “Well, hell,” he said. “I’ll have to get a replacement immediately. The tour is set to resume tomorrow.”

Archie said, “I think that we might be able to ask Chuck Clayton to fill in. We played together recently, and he knows our stuff inside and out.” As the words left his mouth, he visibly registered his mistake. Harold honed in like a shark that tasted blood, his eyes narrowing shrewdly.

“When did you play together?” he asked, maintaining his gaze.

Veronica tried to resolve the issue by quickly saying, “Just a little practice, Harold. Since we had a break, we caught up with an old friend.”

It was Mary who, with another apologetic look, slid her phone across the table. It was playing a shaky video that had been recorded in a dark room, though Archie was unmistakably centered in the frame. He was plucking out the opening notes of the song he’d performed at their secret show.

As the trio looked impassively at the phone, struggling to act like they didn’t recognize the video, Mary said, “This was posted just a few days ago. There’s undeniable evidence that you held a free performance, despite cancelling your scheduled concert on the same day.”

Harold added, “The fans have been trying to figure out what on earth you’re doing. We’ve been fielding questions all week from the press.”

Archie frowned. “It was just for fun,” he protested. “We’ve been working so hard, we wanted to get back to what we loved about this in the first place.” It was the simple truth, though Harold’s expression didn’t change as he heard it.

“That might be, but your _paying_ fans are very upset about it. Also Archie, you performed a new song? Didn’t we discuss having our songwriting team go over your lyrics and melody before you performed anything?”

Veronica shook her head. “He did it as a favor to me,” she said quickly, covering for Archie. “I thought it was so pretty, I asked him to play it that night. I couldn’t wait to see how the fans reacted, since he wrote it for me.”

Betty pressed her lips together. The new song had been a surprise to both of them, but Harold didn’t need to hear that. She knew perfectly well that Jughead and Archie had collaborated to write that song, yet she wasn’t going to say anything to Harold about it, either. Instead, she said, “No harm done, Harold. We won’t play it again until we have the go-ahead. But about the new security.”

He turned to regard her curiously. “Yes?” he asked.

She said, “Since Jughead didn’t do anything wrong—actually, he was just doing his job—we should keep him on.”

Archie nodded. “Yeah, he can be our personal security,” he agreed. Perhaps he was grateful that the topic had moved away from his transgressions. “You can bring in whatever team you hired, too. They can work together.”

Harold thought about it. “Done,” he agreed. The word carried the emphasis of vocal punctuation—the air of finality it carried effectively brought their meeting to an end. Betty wasn’t completely happy with the way things had turned out, but at least they’d managed to adjust their contracts for Veronica and Archie, get rid of Trent, and keep Jughead’s job. If all of that meant that she had to wear a couple of cashmere sweaters until she could meet with Francine, then that was a sacrifice that Betty was willing to concede.

Mary smiled warmly at them and said, “Now that business is taken care of, let’s go to lunch.”

Harold nodded, his expression warming as well. “If you could contact Mr. Clayton, we can draw up a temporary contract this afternoon and bring him on for the next few engagements.”

She felt relieved enough that Trent was gone for good. Even though she hadn’t told Harold about her relationship with Jughead, she felt like the meeting had been a success. Veronica and Archie would finally be able to act like themselves, after concealing their relationship for so long. She was happy for her friends, and she knew that she’d eventually have the same luxury. Rising from the table, she followed them into the hotel lobby. When the limousine arrived, she slid into the back and made herself comfortable between the chauffeur’s window and Veronica. 

_B: no more trent_

_B: it went ok_

_B: I didn’t tell harold about us yet_

Her phone buzzed within moments. 

**J: Good!**

_B: going to lunch. what are you doing?_

**J: Writing. Where are you going?**

_B: don’t know. I think Mary chose._

**J: Mary?**

_B: our lawyer, Archie’s mom._

_B: what are you writing?_

He didn’t reply immediately. Watching her phone, she saw the dots appear and disappear at the bottom of the screen. It looked like he was typing a message, deleting it, then typing again.

Finally, her phone buzzed. 

**J: A novel.**

She smiled lightly. The further she delved into the mystery of Jughead Jones, the more surprises she uncovered. Betty closed her eyes and leaned her head back against the car.

—————————

He was staring at a blank page of notebook paper, his pen resting between his teeth. Jughead sighed, closing his eyes and allowing himself to be transported back to a particular blanket in a particular park, next to a particular woman that was endlessly occupied with turning his brain into soup. With his eyes closed, he could feel her fingers tracing his scars more tenderly than he could recall anyone touching him in his life. He felt her breath against his skin as she curled against his bare chest, and the somewhat sweet dampness of her tears as they were caught between her cheek and his skin. Unloading all of that history to Betty had felt like closing the back cover of a book. He had written himself out of that story as a main character, left to find a second life, and it was just as impossible to return now as it was to leap into the printed pages of any shelf.

Jughead wrote a few words on the page, catching them as he let his thoughts wander around his recollections of their second date. Whatever writer’s block he’d been feeling when he sat down was finally starting to dissipate. 

His pen was flying now, racing line over line like a motorcycle on a tree-lined highway. Just as his mind lit on a truly fantastic turn of phrase, his phone began to buzz across the table. Jughead frowned as it continued buzzing, indicating that he was getting a call rather than a text message. Betty couldn’t already be done with lunch, she’d just said they were going into a restaurant. 

The words slipped away like water through his cupped hands, each buzz driving them back into the ether. He sighed and dropped his pen, looking at the face of his phone.

 _Canaan Penitentiary,_ read the caller ID.

He anxiously slid the green button across the screen to accept the call, raising the phone to his ear.

“Dad?” said Jughead, his heart pounding.

There was a pause before FP’s voice crackled through the earpiece. “Hey. How are things outside, boy?”

He couldn’t help feeling like an invisible cord was slowly tightening across his neck as he heard his dad’s voice. Jughead took a small breath to pull himself together. He’d had months to come to terms with what had happened, but that didn’t mean that it hurt any less. “Good, dad. Really good,” he said. Hesitating for the briefest of moments, he added, “I met a girl.”

Jughead could hear the smile in FP’s voice as he replied, “Tell me about her.”

He described Betty, beginning with her somewhat introverted personality and the warmest smile he’d ever seen in his life. Jughead explained the way that her hair curled under her ear when she put it in a ponytail, and he way it rolled softly over her shoulders when she left it down. He tried to communicate the way that it caught the sun, the ethereal buttercream and honey tones that alternated every strand. How it felt like the softest fucking silk he’d ever touched. He talked about her eyes, the way they glimmered, how emotive they were of the feelings she struggled constantly to keep inside. “And Dad,” he added, taking a breath. “She’s famous. Like, honest to god, fucking famous.”

FP interrupted. “Then keep her as far from this shithole as possible.” He added, with relief evident in his tone, “Thank you for telling me about her, Jug. Hearing that you’re happy out there makes all of this fucking shit worth it.”

His heart twisted in his chest, plunging deep into the icy waters of the pit of guilt that occupied his core. Licking his lips with his suddenly dry tongue, Jughead managed to say, “Dad, I’m sorry.”

FP’s tone was stern. “Don’t start doing that again, boy.”

He closed his eyes and squeezed his hand into a fist, pressing it against Archie’s guest room wall and willing himself not to punch. Jughead steadied himself mentally, then said, “I’ve got a good job, now. Security for a band. I’m in New York today, but I’ve been seeing the country.”

FP’s voice lightened and he joked, “Feel like sending your old man some smokes with some of that good luck?”

There was another voice on the prison end of the conversation, then. Jughead heard his dad say something sharply to someone else in the room, then a scraping sound like he’d put his hand over the mouthpiece. After a moment of silence, he tried, “Dad?”

The scraping sound happened again, then FP’s voice croaked, “I’ve got to go. If your job brings you through Pennsylvania, it would be nice to see you, Jughead. If you had time.”

Even though his tongue was thick with emotion, he said, “Of course, Dad. I’ll send some money for smokes, and I’ll visit in a few weeks. I swear.”

The line went dead. Jughead stared at the phone in his hand for a long time in the resounding silence that followed. He blinked up at Archie’s ceiling then, trying to uncoil the sinews in his throat as he willed his tears not to spill from his eyes.

—————————

Mary mentioned that Betty was glowing no less than seven times during lunch. She simply smiled in response, offering elusive responses that amounted to a lot of meaningless small talk. Betty had never been exceptionally close to Mary Andrews, even nursing a little resentment toward her after the pain she’d caused Archie as a teenager. But they were generally on good terms, and she did feel bad for resolutely avoiding any explanation that would satisfy Mary’s curiosity. Like Veronica or the Inquisition, the woman had been known to dish out a brutal line of questioning as soon as she got a hint of something that she needed to know. Betty flashed a vapid smile in response to her most recent compliment and made up an excuse about needing to use the restroom. 

Veronica excused herself immediately as well. She linked her arm with Betty’s and they casually slipped between the myriad of circular tables in the restaurant. As soon as they entered the powder room, Veronica turned on her.

“You didn’t tell Harold,” she said. It was more of a statement than a question. Betty pressed her lips together, crossing her arms over her diaphragm. 

“It didn’t feel like the right time,” she told Veronica. “I’ll tell him, but you heard that they want to keep me styled the same for the rest of the summer. I’m not going to let him mess up another part of my life right now.”

Her best friend seemed to accept that response. At least Veronica understood Betty’s unwillingness to complicate things any further. They’d managed to get through the meeting without firing Harold, and in a way she supposed that they should have been grateful for that. Finding a new manager and a new drummer simultaneously would have likely put an end to their tour entirely. Digesting what Betty had said, Veronica turned and checked her always-perfect makeup in the mirror.

“You’re not ashamed of Jughead?” Veronica asked, not looking over. She seemed to be trying to appear casual, but Betty knew her well enough to notice that she was too worried about the question to look her friend in the eyes when she asked it.

She shook her head. “Not at all. Actually, I think I feel more and more grateful to have him in my life every day.”

Veronica did meet her eyes then. She smiled supportively. “I thought so,” she said, somewhat to herself. Directly to Betty, she added, “I knew you were falling for him.”

Betty returned the smile. “He’s pretty wonderful,” she gushed.

Her friend wrinkled her nose. “B, I don’t want to hear it. Unless you want all the sordid details of my passionate love for Archie.” Betty mimicked throwing up, just to tease her. Veronica laughed and rolled her eyes in mock horror. Growing somber, she said, “I do get a weird feeling, though, B. Just be careful about giving your heart away too quickly.”

She frowned at those words, the mirth evaporating from the room in an instant. Of course, knowing what she’d learned about Jughead the day before, Betty was aware that there were big things Veronica couldn’t be aware of concerning his past. She wondered if that was what had piqued her friend’s suspicions. Carefully, Betty said, “What do you mean?”

Veronica shrugged one shoulder. “Maybe nothing, B. But I love you, and I don’t want to see you get hurt. I don’t think Jughead is the hurting type, but—I’m just worried for you.”

Betty blinked in confusion, quickly checking her own reflection. She couldn’t say anything about Jughead’s history, though. Betty had promised him to keep his secret—and he’d been so careful about keeping theirs, too, she felt like she owed that to him. If Jughead wanted to tell Veronica or Archie about himself, then that was his decision to make. To change the subject, she replied, “We should go back, before anyone thinks we’ve been attacked in the bathroom again.”

Her friend nodded and smirked at the joke. Some of Jughead’s sarcasm must have started wearing off on Betty. Then she brightened all around as she said, “Let’s have a double date tonight! Since we return to work tomorrow, it will be our last free evening before we’re confined again to that horrible bus.”

Betty smiled, Veronica’s enthusiasm spreading as usual. She suggested, “Let’s see a movie.”

Veronica nodded. “Yes! Betty, we can rent one of those dinner theaters. That will solve our little publicity problem.” By that, of course, she meant Betty being seen in public with Jughead looking like something other than a security guard. “And afterwards, I’m bringing Archiekins home with me.”

Betty wrinkled her nose and quickly retorted, “Ew.”

Her friend linked their arms again and said, “That means that you and Jughead will have Archie’s all to yourselves,” with a conspiratorial wink.

The flutter of excitement in Betty’s stomach at that realization was impossible to ignore. An easy grin spread across her face and she regarded Veronica calmly. “Sounds perfect,” she agreed.

———————————

**J: You told ARCHIE?**

_B: I had to after v found out_

_B: or she would have eventually_

**J: Yeah, but some warning would have been nice.**

**J: He just came at me with this intense big brother speech.**

**J: Something about making me regret being born if I ever hurt you.**

_B: lololol [Crying laughing emoji]_

**J: I don’t have the heart to tell him that I could take him with my eyes closed.**

**J: So you’d better not ever tell him that I hurt you.**

**J: Wait, that sounded awful.**

**J: I swear I never WILL hurt you, Betty.**

_B: I’m telling Archie_

**J: Really?!**

_B: [Wink emoji]_

**J: [Shocked emoji]**

_B: relax. he gives that speech to anyone he thinks is interested in me_

_B: it’s not just for you [Heart emoji]_

**J: Oh that’s reassuring.**

_B: we’re on our way, bring Archie down to the lobby or we’ll be late_

——————

The best part of the plan that the girls came up with was the food, in Jughead’s opinion. He leaned back in his chair and picked up a nacho from the tray, popping it into his mouth. Betty curled up against his side, sipping an ice cream float. His left arm was wrapped over her shoulders, allowing her head to rest on the soft spot below his collarbone. 

Of course he’d known that magical establishments called dinner theaters existed, but Jughead grew up sneaking into an old drive-in theater in the trunk of his mother’s station wagon. For a short time, he’d lived in the projection booth. He’d been in fancier, enclosed theaters many times, of course. But his life had yet to arrange a series of circumstances which allowed him to eat in one at the same time. The combination of food and a movie on a big screen brought him back to a time when he was very, very young—perhaps before he understood the cracks in his family as being what they were, before he’d realized that other children didn’t have kool-aid packets for breakfast, before Santa had forgotten to visit, before they’d finally fallen apart forever.

“Help me out with this, Jug,” Archie pleaded quietly, breaking Jughead out of his thoughts. He gestured toward the pitcher of beer on Jughead's other side. Maybe he thought it was a peace offering for threatening him earlier. Jughead didn’t want to get drunk that night, though. Especially since Betty was also declining any and all offers of more spirited beverages. 

He shook his head empathetically. “Quiet, Archie, Wynona is speaking.”

On the screen, Wynona Rider was pledging her undying hatred for Heather Chandler as she scribbled furiously in her diary. 

He was still having some trouble adjusting mentally to the double date they’d arranged for the evening. The break from reality, for him, began with the limo. Then Veronica called the theater and purchased a ticket for every seat, then informed the staff that they would be screening a special film. She’d selected the 1989 classic because she’d never seen it before, and assumed no one else had either. Jughead, of course, had seen the film numerous times but he kept that wisely to himself. Renting an entire theater was something reserved for a certain type of royalty—and Jughead had never entertained any illusions in his life that he would ever be included in that sort of evening. 

All four talked quietly throughout the film, having the theater to themselves. Betty and Veronica mostly discussed how unrealistic the female characters seemed. They agreed that Wynona Rider’s fling with Christian Slater was misguided and unfounded. Primarily, they commented on the retro clothing and makeup.

Jughead couldn’t stop himself from mouthing the line, “Dear diary, my teen angst bullshit now has a bodycount.” Clearly one of the most pivotal moments in the film. 

Betty saw him. She tipped her head up, her lips near his ear, and said, “You’ve seen this before?”

He couldn’t help smirking now that he was caught. Glancing down at her, he winked and brought one finger to his lips. A bit more audibly, so the others could hear, Betty said, “This queen bee business reminds me of Regina George from Mean Girls. And Cheryl.”

Veronica sighed at that second name, which meant absolutely nothing to Jughead. He looked down the row at Veronica and said, “Cheryl?”

Archie took a long drink of his beer. Betty explained, “A girl we knew growing up. She was a holy terror in high school. I’m not sure what she’s doing now, though.”

“She doesn’t need to do anything, remember? Her parents had that company, and her brother was disowned after—“ Archie stopped, glancing over at Betty.

She straightened a bit in her chair and said, “After he ran away with my older sister.”

Jughead raised his eyebrows, surprised. Sympathetically, he said, “I’m sorry, Betts.” He’d told her about his sister, so he knew exactly what that sort of particular pain felt like. Some time soon he’d have to explain that his mom and Jellybean had vanished the week of his birthday, moved to Toledo with his grandparents, and never contacted him again. It wasn’t the time or place to say any of that now, though.

“It’s fine. She didn’t tell anyone, and for a year my family had no idea what happened to her. But we email sometimes, now,” Betty explained softly. She put her hand over his and squeezed lightly, the corners of her lips turning up. Thinking about how much he absolutely loved her, he slid sideways in his chair and leaned his cheek against her shoulder. He felt the gentle pressure of her cheek against the top of his head moments later.

They remained that way until the explosion at the finale, when a half-charred Wynona regarded the audience as the smoke cleared. Betty sat up then when Veronica whispered loudly, “Bad day for her stylist.”

Jughead straightened as well, laughing lightly at the joke. By the time the credits were rolling, Archie was only three quarters of the way through his pitcher, but Jughead’s nachos had vanished. Betty stretched her hands over her head, curling her toes simultaneously. He looked her over in appreciation until she let her muscles relax. Jughead found himself wondering again how he had gotten so lucky. Months ago, he would have bet money against himself ever even speaking with Betty. As her ethereal green eyes met his and she smiled lightly, he felt another ounce of the defenses he’d steeled around his heart since his childhood chipping away. Whatever the future held for them, Jughead quietly prayed that it would be kind. Maybe his Jones luck was gone at last.

It certainly seemed so as Betty said, “So, are we taking separate cars?”

Veronica smiled deviously and nodded, leaning her head against Archie’s shoulder. “Absolutely, B. And we’ll reconvene for breakfast, but not a moment sooner.”

He hadn’t been aware of this development in their plans. Immediately catching on that Veronica and Archie would be returning to one apartment while he and Betty would be staying in the other, Jughead’s heart rate instantly increased. Betty slipped her hand into his and rose from her theater chair, pulling him up with her. She flashed him a smile that echoed Veronica’s suggestive look, and it sent an urgent signal from his brain to his more delicate parts. Jughead considered himself an excellent sleuth when it came to their plans for the rest of the evening.

As they blinked in the twilight outside the theater, he saw that their limousine was nowhere to be found. Instead, two black SUVs with tinted windows waited at the curb. When Archie opened the back door for Veronica, he smirked over at his friends and said, “Have a good night, guys.”

Betty returned a bright grin in response. As she climbed into the back of the second car, Jughead couldn’t resist replying, “We will.”

He felt as elated as he’d been at his high school graduation, when he’d been named one of the top ten students in his class and his dad had quietly cried while he applauded. Not many things since then had carried Jughead so swiftly to the top of the world. As Betty slid her hand over his leg in the back seat of the hired car, he realized that tonight was definitely going to be one of them.

———————

When Jughead unlocked the door of Archie’s apartment, Betty followed him quickly inside and wasted no time in catching two handfuls of his shirt to pull him down for a kiss. She felt his hands curl over her sides and settle on the small of her back in response. As their mouths parted so that their tongues could find one another, Betty let her fingers work their way through the hair over the nape of his neck.

She’d been thinking about doing this ever since Veronica had announced her plans for the evening. It had been some time since Betty was close with someone in this way, and she was a little worried that she might not be any good. Since things had been going so well with Jughead so far, she was terrified that this might be something in which they didn’t synchronize perfectly—something that was a deal breaker, maybe. Her heart was threatening to beat its way out of her throat.

But her mind went blissfully blank as Jughead’s hands slid over the curve of her ass. She gasped as he lifted her up, naturally wrapping her legs around his waist. With his lips still crushing hers, Jughead carried her to the couch and leaned her back, settling his body over hers. She pushed her heels against him to leverage her core against the bulging beneath his jeans, a small and desperate noise escaping from the back of her throat.

“Betts—“ he gasped, pressing his forehead against hers. “We should—“

She found the button of his jeans, using both hands to unclasp it. Jughead’s words choked away as her fingers found a path beneath the elastic of his boxers. Betty smiled in secret relief as he moaned beneath her touch.

They teased one another on the couch, slowly losing bits of clothing as both explored one another’s bodies. Finally, when they’d reached their undergarments, Jughead extracted himself from Betty’s limbs and resolutely turned the lock on the apartment door. 

He returned to scoop her up bridal-style and carry her to the room he’d been staying in. Betty gasped in surprise and delight as he deposited her on the bed and crawled over her in the same moment. He kissed her hard, sliding up a hand to cup her breast through the lacy fabric of her bra. As she drew in a sharp breath at the sensation, he brushed his lips lightly over hers and smirked.

Her actions were born of an urgency that felt almost primal, her earlier worries vanishing like a dream. As Jughead palmed her and smiled affectionately down at her, she moaned and writhed beneath him. She began slipping her arms out of the bra straps and he sat up to allow her to unhook the clasp behind her back. Betty tossed it aside, then let herself lay back against the pillows and meet his eyes.

Jughead looked her over, his eyes still darkened with unbridled lust. She watched him, unable to stop herself from biting her bottom lip as she worried about what he was thinking. It seemed like the moment her teeth slid over her lip, he had to thrust against her. With just the fabric of her panties and his boxers between them this time, there was no denying either of their readiness.

Betty moaned at the contact, her voice distorted into a high-pitched, airy echo of its usual self. 

When he spoke, his voice was also unusually deep and quiet. At least so far they’d had similar effects on one another, it seemed. “Fuck, Betty. Do you…” he hesitated, and she blinked up at him.

“I get the shot,” she said, thinking that might have been his concern. When she said it, she felt a blush spread over her cheeks. There was absolutely no denying where this was headed, and she thought that she might have been more nervous now than she had been in the back of Reggie’s car as a teenager. With Jughead, she was infinitely more concerned about being impressive. She had more to lose.

It seemed like her words lit another fire in him, because he resumed kissing her and began letting his lips trail from the corner of her mouth along her jaw, down her neck, over her collarbone, and up the swell of her breast. Betty shivered at each touch, unable to stop her hips from rising against his.

She realized that he was mumbling something against her skin. Concentrating through the haze that seemed to be occupying her mind, she thought that she could make out, _Most beautiful person I’ve ever seen—don’t deserve you—fuck, Betty, you’re amazing—_ between his kisses. When he flicked his tongue over her nipple, she had to curl her hands into the blankets beneath her as her body spasmed. 

He licked a path from one to the other. She realized dimly that she was moaning regularly at his attention—then wondered in slight alarm if anyone would hear them.

As he began to kiss a path down her stomach, she decided that she didn’t fucking care.

————————

Jughead nestled his face against the back of Betty’s neck. He was curled around her, pressing every possible inch of his skin against hers. The sensation of her thighs against his was particularly nice, and he couldn’t stop inhaling the scent of her shampoo. His arm was draped casually over her side, fingers tracing lightly over the concave curve of her hip.

She pushed herself back against him with a minute wiggle. Unable to stop himself from smirking, he whispered in her ear, “Twice wasn’t enough, Betts?” Then he nipped playfully at the edge of her ear with his teeth and left a kiss behind it.

He could hear the smile in her voice. “No, Jug, I don’t think so.”

Teasing her, he replied sarcastically, “There might be some tenant in this building that you didn’t wake up yet, huh?”

At that, she turned in his arms and blinked up at him. Those beautiful green orbs cast an accusing gaze in his direction, her bottom lip jutting out in a pout. Betty ran a flat hand up his chest as she said, “I would never do something like that.”

As her hand travelled quickly south, Jughead growled, “Betty Cooper, you’re insatiable.” He rolled her onto her back and pushed her hands over her head, tossing one leg over hers in the same motion. Betty let her hips rise to meet his, her core leaving a trail of fire over the top of his leg as she did so. Jughead lowered his face to hers. 

“I love you,” he breathed.

She probably didn’t even realize that she Han Solo-ed him when she replied, “I know.” But after what she did next—Jughead wasn’t going to point it out, as nearly all coherent thought fled from his mind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The worst thing about my graduate lit class is that my professor wants our responses limited to 500 words. I have about 150 things to say about Mark Twain, and all of them feel equally important. UGH.
> 
> Also (and this pains me deeply) my updates might slow down a bit as I trudge through the mire of summer classes...one of my professors seems determined to drown us all in coursework until we change out of the program. I shall not be defeated, but the perfectionist in my soul is already daunted by the sheer volume of work ahead. He won't tarnish my 4.0! (Ignore the sound of my hysterical laughter.)
> 
> Next chapter: an unexpected surprise, another firing, and further alarming events. It's a rough road ahead.


	9. Trouble

As Jughead slung his backpack over his shoulders, he glanced around Archie’s guest room for a final time. The little bit of Holden Caulfield in him always found it easier to say goodbye to a place when he knew he was leaving for a long time. He’d at least formed some very pleasant memories here—aside from the obvious, Jughead had truly enjoyed the time he’d gotten to know Archie personally, playing video games, watching movies, and working on lyrics together. Growing up, he hadn’t been given the opportunity to make many friends that were free of some sort of commitment. Being the son of a gang leader, then becoming said gang leader, carried with it a sort of weight that most friends found impossible to ignore.

When he walked into the living room, Betty was wearing one of his shirts and nothing else. She was looking out the window with a cup of coffee in her hand. As his eyes found the crease below the curve of her perfect backside, Jughead was tempted to drop his stuff and carry her back into the bedroom.

“We’ve got to meet Archie and Veronica at 8,” she said, glancing over her shoulder. Her voice was tinged with the severe regret he felt as well, at least. Jughead crossed the room in a few steps and slipped his arms around her, wrapping himself around her shoulders as he buried his face in the cascade of blonde hair over her neck. Betty melted into his arms, nestling her face against the side of his head. He thought ruefully to himself that he could spend every morning of his life like this and die a happy man--then wondered with a pang of panic whether or not it was too soon to be thinking that sort of thing. Fighting it down, he closed his eyes and allowed himself to breathe in the smell of her shampoo--something slightly fruity, maybe, but just a bit difficult to fully place.

“I love you,” he whispered against her ear, never having meant any words so much in his life. Betty turned in his grasp, setting down her coffee cup before she stretched onto her tiptoes and kissed him. Her arms pulled him down against her, and he lost a chivalrous internal battle before he left himself slip his hands south from the small of her back to settle on her ass. Betty’s body responded immediately, pressing softly against his.

When she pulled her lips away and lowered her heels to the ground, she was smiling up at him contentedly. “I love you too, Jug.”

An easy smile spread over his face. “I hope last night was okay. Did I hurt you?” he asked, concerned about her response. For their first night together, things had gotten a little bit rougher than he’d been expecting. Betty’s smile widened at his words, a mischievous glimmer flashing in her eyes.

“No more than I wanted you to,” she said deviously.

Jughead groaned and slid a hand down her back to pull her against him. “See what you do to me,” he grumbled, pressing his head against hers. Betty giggled and stepped back, slipping out of his arms. Jughead realized then that continuing things with Betty was going to dramatically improve his self control—five minutes with her, like this, and he was virtually a caveman. He watched her warily as she turned, spinning a lock of hair around one finger.

“I didn’t bring a change of clothes,” she announced, her tone apologetic. “I already called Bethany to bring some over. Do you mind hiding when she gets here?”

Jughead leveled a look at her. He was already mildly irritated by the state of semi-arousal she’d teased him into. Then she was asking him to hide from Bethany—who did snore unpleasantly, he remembered, and sometimes shouted in her sleep. Jughead was not looking forward to spending the next few weeks on that cramped bus, especially since it meant that this would likely be the last time for a long time that he and Betty were able to share an unguarded, intimate evening. But he couldn’t deny anything she asked with those eyes, so he sighed. “No problem,” he said, struggling to keep the disappointment out of his tone.

Betty frowned, stepping forward to hug him as she heard his voice. She looked up and sighed too, worrying her bottom lip in an adorable way that had him struggling again not to pick her up and carry her back into the guest room. “I know it’s going to be hard,” she whispered. Jughead saw that her eyes were filling quickly with tears, and he brushed his thumbs carefully over her cheeks as they started to fall. “This is my fault,” she admitted, her voice hitching. “I should have told Harold, made him listen to me…I was too scared,” she admitted fiercely. He could almost see her internal war against herself reflected in those eyes, and Jughead immediately regretted letting Betty know how he was feeling. He’d do anything to protect her, even from herself.

“It’s fine,” Jughead said, smoothing his hands over her to reassure her. “Don’t worry about it, Betty. It wasn’t the right time to tell him, and I’d rather keep my job for right now.” 

She’d told him about the way that Harold nearly fired him, and how Archie and Veronica offered their support to keep him on. Jughead couldn’t remember a time when he’d had friends who were willing to stand up for him without expecting anything in return—in the gang, those favors had always come at a price. He almost expected the other shoe to eventually fall, but Betty reassured him that they were just happy to continue traveling together, and payback was never going to be expected.

He was about to kiss her again when there was a knock at the door. Betty jumped, then seemed to realize that she was only halfway decent. As her cheeks colored and she rushed about, looking for her shorts from the night before, Jughead felt an overwhelming surge of affection pour through his heart. She was adorable and completely flustered. Despite other, urgent inclinations, he obediently retreated into Archie’s room and shut the door.

He glanced around to take his mind off the sight of Betty standing by the window, and the way her hands curled delicately around her coffee mug. Archie still had pennant flags from his high school athletic teams on the walls of his bedroom. It looked almost like he’d packed up his life as a teenager and moved it into this space, but with better furniture. Jughead wasn’t there to spy on Archie, though. He leaned against the door and closed his eyes, waiting.

Unbidden, scenes from the night before rose to the top of his mind. To say that his first night with Betty had been incredible would be an understatement. Jughead vividly recalled several encounters he’d had in the past with the fairer sex, but none of those girls had ever asked for seconds in the same evening, let alone thirds. He’d said that she was insatiable, and while it had been a joke at the time, Jughead realized now that he’d prophesied his own future.

And Betty had completely surprised him, too. Who would have guessed that beneath those modest sweaters and that radiant blonde hair was a woman who didn’t like her evening flavors to be entirely vanilla? He’d been more than willing to play along, of course, but his wrists were still a bit sore where she’d roped a pillowcase around them.

He could hear two voices in the living room of the apartment, both cadences high enough to assume they were female. It sounded like Bethany and Betty were exchanging pleasantries and catching up. He hoped that his coworker would leave quickly so that he could enjoy the last few minutes he’d get alone with his beautiful, surprising, _sexy_ girlfriend for the foreseeable future.

When the front door opened and closed, he remained where he was. Jughead didn’t want to assume that she’d gone because perhaps a third person had entered the apartment. Betty wanted to keep their secret, and he was going to do whatever she wanted him to.

She knocked lightly at the door, the sound muffled as it came through between his shoulder blades, and said, “Come out, Jug.”

He let himself out of Archie’s room and grinned when he saw her. Betty had changed out of his shirt already and donned a knit short-sleeved shirt over a pair of shiny vinyl shorts. The contrasting material made her look soft and edgy at the same time. Even without her makeup done yet, Jughead could tell that she would look absolutely stunning on stage.

“You look amazing,” he said, smiling down at her. “I like these shorts.”

Betty smirked and turned, intentionally showing her curves off. She explained, “Bethany heard about the deal Francine and Harold cut me. She picked up a few things that are a little bit more of a compromise.”

Jughead replied curiously, “How did she know what sort of thing you’d prefer to wear?”

Betty’s cheeks colored and she said, “Oh. I, uh, bought some stuff with Veronica, and she showed it to Bethany this morning.”

His eyebrows raised. “What sort of stuff?” he asked, letting himself run his hands over her hips as he pulled her against him. Betty’s smile grew downright seductive.

“Just wait, Jones,” she purred. Turning out of his hands, she picked up her purse and let herself into the bathroom. Jughead watched her go, then wondered how he was going to get through an entire evening of watching his girlfriend onstage. That thought was chased by an intense, slightly more possessive tangent—how would he make it through watching the _fans_ watch his girlfriend onstage? He groaned and jammed his beanie onto his head, dropping onto Archie’s couch.

———————

The return to the tour bus felt less than triumphant. Betty thought she might have been willing to go the rest of her life without sleeping on a bed in the back of a bus again. But she knew that their fans would be thrilled to see them onstage once more, and so she took her place alongside Veronica’s bed and fished her novel out of her bag.

Veronica was touching up her pedicure before their journey was underway. All the bumps on the road made fixing something as delicate as nail polish virtually impossible. The curtains were drawn back between all the beds, so Betty could even see over to where Archie was scanning over his trusty composition book.

“It feels weird to be leaving again after getting a break,” Betty commented out loud. Both Veronica and Archie looked over at her. The latter nodded, but the former huffed impatiently.

“Oh, B. I’d love to agree with you, but being onstage is so fun. I, for one, am glad we’re done sneaking around New York.”

She hadn’t meant it that way, but Betty piqued an eyebrow and said, “At least some of us are done sneaking around.” Her tone was just barely accusatory. She certainly wasn’t angry with her friends for finally being able to have their relationship in the public eye, but she was just a tiny bit jealous if she was honest with herself. If Veronica heard it, she didn’t give Betty any sort of response. Her glasses slid down her nose as she squinted at her toes, edging a finger along one side to remove a bit of extra polish.

As if he knew Betty was thinking of him, her phone buzzed.

**J: See you in Pittsburgh, beautiful. [Kiss emoji]**

Betty sighed.

_B: [Crying emoji]_

_B: I miss you already._

The door of the bus woodshed open again, catching her attention. When she looked over, she saw Chuck uncertainly ascending the steps.

“Hey guys,” he said, by way of greeting. Everything about his demeanor looked hesitant, as if he wasn’t sure whether or not they were expecting him—or they’d wanted him. 

Archie broke the tension by rising from his bed and walking across the bus, a huge smile spread across his face. When he reached Chuck, he extended a hand. As they shook, Archie said, “Chuck, man, thank you so much for doing this for us.”

Veronica made a noise at Betty’s left and said, “Yes, thank you, Chuck. As long as you’re not as much of a pig as our last drummer, we’ll ask Harold to keep you around.”

At those words, Chuck’s expression turned toward Betty. She was mildly surprised, but then she realized that Harold must have told him something about what had happened to Trent. Flashing a meek smile, she said, “Since we’re old friends, I’m sure you remember how to behave yourself.”

Chuck had gotten into some trouble during high school, which Betty and Veronica had never forgotten. Though he’d filled in fairly often as their drummer, they’d argued with Archie about including him as a core member of the band. Ultimately (of course) the girls won, after Archie found out about a contest of sexual conquests that Chuck was having with some of his friends. Since Betty and Veronica had been judging him on rumors alone, it had taken hard evidence before Archie was willing to ostracize him from the group. Betty’s sister Polly had ultimately been willing to provide her testimony, and Chuck’s fate was sealed.

But Chuck had changed after school, or so the rumors went. After Archie confronted him, he’d joined a local church group and worked through some of the skewed views he had concerning his female classmates. Betty even heard that he’d apologized personally and sincerely to many of them.

She just didn’t want to leave the choice of their next drummer up to Harold again, either. Since things with Trent had ended so badly, Betty felt like it was safer to deal with a devil they knew as opposed to one they didn’t.

“Thanks, Betty. Veronica,” Chuck said, in response to their lukewarm greetings. He sighed unexpectedly, looking over at Archie. “I know that I wasn’t the best person when I was a kid. But I hope that you guys can see how I’ve changed during the last few years.”

Archie nodded, then glanced over his shoulder at Betty. To Chuck, he said, “You’re right, people change.”

She straightened, wondering if he’d been directing that comment partially at her. Sure, she’d changed after high school. She felt like snapping back that her mother had been controlling her then, and the Betty they’d known had really been Alice in disguise. But the more rational part of her fettered her tongue, since Archie surely hadn’t been derisive when he’d replied to Chuck. She was just overreacting.

Veronica set her nerves at ease when she added, “Yes, people usually change for the better. Come on in, Chuck. Welcome to our mobile home.”

Chuck laughed lightly at Veronica’s joke and the tension eased out of the small space. He made his way over to what had formerly been Trent’s bed, between Archie and Veronica’s spaces. Bethany—quite good at her job—had already loaded his bags in the cargo bays below the bus. He set down his backpack of personals and glanced around.

“So…how does this usually go?” he asked curiously, taking a seat.

As Archie launched into an animated explanation, their driver put the bus into drive and pulled away from the curb. Betty leaned back against the wall of the bus and opened her book. It was going to be a long ride back to Pittsburgh.

———————

**J: I can’t believe how many people I pulled out of that crowd tonight.**

**J: I might never lift anything again.**

_B: do you think the show went okay?_

_B: I mean, with chuck_

**J: Yes. The fans were surprised to see him, but everything sounded fine.**

_B: I thought so too_

_B: Do you think we could sneak out in the morning?_

_B: Maybe for coffee?_

Jughead glanced over at Larry, who was changing his clothes so close to Jughead’s bed that his derrière was level with the pillow. Well, at least it seemed like some things hadn’t changed. Rolling onto his left side to escape his front row viewing of the middle-aged man’s bizarrely hairy, somewhat acne prone back, Jughead cued up his messaging app and tried to see how long he could go without breathing. Before he could respond to Betty, Larry turned.

“Oh sorry, Jones, didn’t see you there,” he said.

Like fuck you didn’t, Jughead thought savagely. No, he hadn’t missed being on this bus for one second. The guest suite in Archie’s apartment was already starting to feel like a distant and pleasant dream. One that surely couldn’t have happened to someone cursed with Jones luck.

He didn’t reply to Larry, hoping that silence would be a strong enough indicator of his unchanged feelings about their close proximity. Not wanting to keep Betty waiting for too long, he began tapping his screen rapidly with both thumbs.

**J: Maybe to a motel?**

He hit send before he could have any second thoughts about the message, hoping she was reciprocating his feelings. His night with Betty had ignited what he suspected was going to become a lasting addiction, and he couldn’t fathom spending the next two months traveling the country without being allowed another evening of bliss. Jughead saw the little bubble pop up with the ellipsis, indicating that she was writing a reply, but then it vanished. His stomach responded with a nervous flop, and he quickly sent a follow up message.

**J: For the continental breakfast, of course.**

_B: lolol [Crying/Laughing emoji]_

_B: I thought you meant for sex_

He stared at the phone in his hands, blinking. She’d really gone there. Another firm blink, and the words were still on the screen. Jughead smirked at his phone as he quickly wrote a teasing reply.

**J: ……..! Betty Cooper! I am scandalized.**

**J: [Wink emoji]**

He was still smirking at the phone when a photo loaded. Jughead felt his breath hitch and immediately dropped the device face-down onto his bed before glancing over his shoulder. Larry had remembered that personal space was a thing that existed and he’d moved further up the bus, using a washcloth to give his torso and head a sort of pseudo-bath. Jughead glanced over at the driver, too, and the crew manager in the seat behind him, making sure they were still in their seats. As the bus hit a pothole, he realized that it was a stupid thing to check—of course the driver wasn’t going to be running back and checking what was on Jughead’s phone.

Covertly, he edged the phone up from the mattress and tapped it back to life. The photo Betty had text messaged him must have been something she’d taken in the green room earlier in the evening.

She was wearing those impossibly sexy plastic shorts that highlighted her perfect curves, and nothing else. One arm wrapped over her upper body to censure the image, the other likely occupied in holding the phone. She’d taken the picture from somewhere near her hip, glancing over her shoulder at the camera with a sultry pout. Golden hair fanned around her head, curling outward where the hair tie had crimped it in her ponytail.

He felt his body temperature rise as another picture came through. Betty was turned away from the camera, her bare back parallel to the ground as she glanced over her shoulder. She must have put the phone on a timer, because there was no way he could imagine her asking anyone else to take this sort of photo. Maybe she’d propped it up on the sink. Her lips were curled into the devious smile he’d only had the privilege to see in private. He could just see the silhouette of the underside of her breast, shadowed just tantalizingly enough to force him to rely on memory and imagination. Jughead was silently cursing whichever fashion designer had created those seductive shorts, because in this photo they were leaving not a damn thing up to his imagination.

Before she could send any more, he typed out a quick message.

**J: Not fair! I’m on a bus with 10 people. This is torture.**

_B: [Heart emoji] [Kiss emoji] [Wink emoji]_

_B: oh, you like my pictures, jug?_

**J: “Like” isn’t a strong enough verb.**

He groaned as his screen lit up with another one. It must have been taken earlier than the others, because she was still wearing a bra. Granted, it was a lacy pink-cupped number that made her breasts look like fucking cupcakes, with the tiniest bow in the center just visible between them. She’d twirled a lock of hair around one finger and leveled her enormous green eyes at the camera, angling the frame just slightly above her head. He could just see a glimpse of her stomach disappearing into the bottom of the screen.

**J: Fuck**

**J: Stop it B**

**J: You’re killing me**

_B: [Wink emoji]_

_B: [Heart emoji]_

_B: goodnight, jug. text me when you wake up._

With that, he snagged his phone charger off the ground and slid it in place, tucking his phone under the edge of his pillow. Rolling onto his back, he closed his eyes. Jughead wasn’t too proud to admit that it would be next to impossible to fall asleep with those pictures imprinted all over his mind.

————————

When the bus stopped in Pittsburgh, Betty was the first person to set her feet on the ground. She knew that she should have waited for the stage crew to disembark and check the area for any insane fans, but spending another minute in that tin can with Chuck and Archie was going to kill her. She was convinced that all of the “Yeah, man!” and “You’re right, man!” happening in there was lowering her IQ one point at a time. They’d been like two prepubescent boys at a sleepover: chatty, immature, and _loud_. Betty could count the minutes of sleep she’d managed on one hand.

Veronica wasn’t looking much happier. At some point in the night, she’d donned a fluffy eye mask and resolutely stuffed her ear buds into her ears. Betty wasn’t sure what she’d chosen to listen to, but whatever it was apparently hadn’t fully done the trick. Bleary eyed and grumpy, she’d rolled her pillow over her head and snapped, “Go away!” when Archie had nudged her bed curtain aside. At least Betty knew better than to mess with a sleep-deprived Veronica.

She stumbled over to the staff bus, blinking in the sun. The door opened to emit Bethany, who looked at Betty in complete shock. It would be a miracle if no one got a picture of her wild hair and athletic shorts—not to mention the t-shirt she’d yet to return to Jughead.

“Betty, what are you doing out here?” Bethany hissed, grabbing her arm. With as much tenderness as one could muster when dragging an adult woman into a bus, Bethany pulled her inside.

Though she fought against it valiantly, Betty was forced to respond with a massive yawn. She blinked in the dim light of the staff bus, her eyes hardly adjusting after the bright sunlight of Pittsburgh’s spring day.

Luckily for Betty, the bus driver that had driven all night was pulling aside the curtain next to her boyfriend’s bed, and she didn’t have to invent anything to say.

“Your shift is up,” the driver snapped, shoving Jughead on the shoulder.

He blinked up at the driver for a moment before sitting up and pushing himself out of bed on the other side. Dragging his pillow along and picking up his cell phone, he turned. Jughead stuffed the pillow into the space under the bed and stretched as the driver was already pulling the blanket over his shoulder.

At least that answered Betty’s question about how ten people could share four beds on one bus.

He rubbed his eyes with one arm and turned, hoisting his backpack off the ground. Still looking down at his phone, he began trudging in the direction of the door. He might have run into her if she hadn’t cleared her throat and made a little sound.

“Morning, Jughead,” Bethany said, flashing him a smile. Betty wondered if she was imagining the way that the assistant looked him over. She was certainly feeling exhausted enough for her mind to play those sort of tricks on her. When Bethany’s cheeks flushed pink as Jughead glanced up at them, Betty realized that she wasn’t completely insane. Pulling the side of her bottom lip between her teeth, she realized that she was blushing too when Jughead’s expression became one of realization as his eyes found his missing t-shirt.

He smiled easily at them both. “Morning, Bethany. Betty, what brings you over here at this hour?” he asked, tone all brusque and business. She conceded to herself that charging over in her pajamas to find him had been a little beyond what casual acquaintances might do for one another. With a cautionary look at the side of Bethany’s head, she put one hand on her hip and looked up at him.

“Chuck,” she snapped, at which Bethany looked over with interest. “He and Archie have turned our bus into a frat house. I got absolutely no sleep last night.” Betty sighed heavily, regretting it the instant that it transformed into another huge yawn. “I need coffee, and gallons of it. Jughead—would you mind coming along?”

It was natural for a celebrity to ask a bodyguard to go with her somewhere, Betty reminded herself. Completely natural. There was no reason for Bethany to be looking between them with an expression that read ‘third wheel’ all over her face. Betty blinked at her (secret) boyfriend and waited.

He made a show of tilting his head back and forth to stretch his neck. Doing so just barely exposed the edge of a tattoo on his collar—just enough for Bethany’s eyes to be hunting for more, while Betty’s mind filled in the blanks and colored the image onto his torso. It was a strip of film, in the old style. Jughead told her during their date at the park that he’d gotten it to commemorate his first job working in a projection booth at a drive-in theater. Then he’d looked off wistfully into the woods, as if he was thinking something more about that time in his life. Betty had waited quietly until he came back to her, tracing her fingers over the curling boxes that wound over his shoulder into a film canister. It was labeled with a stylized date, but he hadn’t explained that yet. As he straightened and stifled a yawn, both women watched him tug his knit beanie into place.

“Sure, just let me go inside and change,” he said in response to Betty’s request. Looking at her with the ghost of a smirk, he added, “Do you want to go out like that, Betty?”

Surprisingly, Bethany interjected. “When Betty’s not onstage, she can go out looking however she wants, Jughead.”

They both looked at the assistant with equivalent shock. Whatever ill will Betty might have been feeling toward Bethany for eyeing her boyfriend evaporated with that show of camaraderie. She certainly didn’t want to make an enemy of her personal shopper, for any reason.

Betty met Jughead’s eyes and said, “Actually, I’ll grab some clothes from the bus and change too. Meet me inside and we’ll go?”

—————————

Jughead couldn’t remember a better morning in his life, even when he tried. Since the stage crew was still waking up and mobilizing to unpack, and the rest of the band was presumably sleeping, he and Betty had managed to sneak into the larger dressing room of the venue without anyone noticing. This particular dressing room was in the style of a suite, with comfortable couches between the well-lit vanities and a palatial bathroom off to one side. It was adjacent to the bathroom in the green room, he knew, since he’d scoped out the floor plan of the building in an email he’d forwarded from the management to the new security team. He still needed to personally meet those people, come to think of it. They were traveling separately. 

He’d taken his time reclaiming his t-shirt from Betty. It had been a long process, culminating in both of them admitting that they needed a shower before they could face the outside world again. Jughead discovered that morning that there were few real joys in life—a fresh hamburger, a motorcycle ride on a clear highway, and covering Betty Cooper’s skin in soapy bubbles with his bare hands.

Thoroughly scrubbed, they’d cocooned into one another’s warmth on the couch after donning fresh clothes for the day. Jughead pretended not to notice when Betty tucked his shirt back into her bag. If he couldn’t press his skin against hers while they slept, at least some small part of himself could be with her. It was a mildly comforting thought.

She fit perfectly beneath his chin as she spooned against his chest. A few faint purrs told him the instant that Betty fell asleep in his arms. Jughead smirked to himself—so she did snore, after all.

It seemed like no time whatsoever had passed when he jolted awake. Unfortunately for both of them, his alarm was the sound of a key turning in the door.

“Betty?” squawked a high-pitched, female voice. 

Then the door swung open to reveal the most unlikely person Jughead could think of.

She sat bolt-upright in his arms, her entire body tensing in an instant. Betty launched herself off the couch and took a few stumbling steps. But the damage was done—the person in the doorway had seen them.

“Get the hell away from my daughter,” the woman snapped, glaring at Jughead like a furious valkyrie. It was his turn to scramble off the couch in a panic, unable to tear his eyes away from the middle-aged woman advancing toward him. At the last possible moment, she raised her phone in front of his face and snapped a photo. The sound of the camera brought back memories of gunshots—and perhaps in this instant, it was even more terrifying. At least in those times he’d had some inkling that getting shot at was highly probable.

When he looked over at Betty in shock, she’d clamped her hands over her mouth and she was staring wide-eyed at him.

“Mom—“ she gasped, her words catching in her throat.

Her mother kept walking toward him until Jughead found himself taking a step backwards. She poked her finger forward, jabbing him in the sternum. “Get. Out. Of. Here.” She enunciated each word, still walking toward him. When his shoulder hit the side of the doorframe, Jughead realized that she’d maneuvered him out of the room with nothing but her glare and one index finger.

The woman could write a textbook on intimidation.

The last glimpse he got of Betty was her tear-stained, terrified face as she sank onto the couch where they’d been nesting only moments before. Then her mother slammed the door.

He stood in the hallway, where the manager of the venue was sputtering and clutching his keys. “Oh, sir. She, uh…she said that Betty Cooper was in trouble, and…we checked all the other rooms—“

“Get the fuck out of here,” Jughead snapped, turning toward him. He wrestled his phone out of his pocket, but it was already buzzing in his hand. 

As the manager rushed away down the hall, Jughead looked at the face of Harold Fry on his caller ID.

—————————

Betty didn’t see Jughead for hours after her mother evicted him from her dressing room. She’d sunken into such a panic after that, she’d re-opened the crescent shaped scars on her palms, and then some. Betty couldn’t remember exactly what her mother had said to her, but none of it had been good. Essentially it amounted to the basic facts that Alice believed Elizabeth Cooper was fooling around with a stage hand in an attempt to void her contract, Elizabeth wasn’t able to be trusted to make her own decisions, and Alice wasn’t going to let Elizabeth out of her sight again. She’d managed to control her breathing, at least, though her ears had filled with a watery rushing sound at the beginning of her mother’s tirade that wouldn’t subside no matter how many times Betty drew in a breath and counted to ten. She’d only been able to pry her fingers away from her palms when her mother had thrown her arms in the air and excused herself to find the restroom. She’d driven all night again to meet up with the band, and that was something that Betty vaguely understood she was supposed to appreciate.

In that moment of peace, Betty regained some much-needed mental clarity. She used the hem of her shirt to dab away some of her tears. Glancing down at her phone, she immediately noted that Jughead hadn’t attempted to call or text since he’d left the room. Was he still in the hallway? Had he heard any of what her mother had said to her?

She cracked the door, but the backstage maze was temporarily devoid of any other signs of life. Betty sighed, pulling it closed again. There was one small blessing, at least. She didn’t need anyone else getting caught up in her mother’s rage. 

So thinking over the situation reasonably, by now her mother had likely informed Harold of Betty's tryst to preempt any sort of underhanded, contract-voiding move that Betty was planning to make. Little did she know, Betty had simply been waiting until the right time to go about negotiating properly with her manager-- _like an adult_. Once again, Alice hadn't trusted her to make her own decisions, on her own terms. That realization filled her with an untamable rage.

When her mother emerged from the bathroom, Betty was a transformed woman. She stared cooly at her, raising her chin in defiance as their eyes met. “We’re done here, mom,” she said. “I want you to leave, and I’m filing for a restraining order.”

Her mother looked confused. “What? Elizabeth, what are you talking about?” she asked, her brows drawing together. 

Betty wasn’t buying the act this time. “You heard what I said, mom,” she replied. “I sent you away once, and you came back. I told you then what the consequence would be. I don’t need you interfering in my life any more.”

Alice’s expression hardened. “Elizabeth Cooper, how da--”

“How dare _you_ try to act like you have my best interests in mind,” Betty interrupted, taking a step forward. Her fists clenched painfully again, but she was so focused on her mother that she hardly noticed. “I’m an adult, mom. I’m seeing someone, and he’s wonderful. And if you have messed this up for me, or him, I will never _ever_ forgive you. I'll do everything that you've always expected me to do--I'll party, I'll wear the trashiest clothes...I'll do everything I can to drag myself through the mud, and take you with me. We're done, mom. You're going to have to let me make my own choices now, and figure out how to live with it. Get out, and don't come back until I invite you.”

With that, she reached back and opened the door. This time, she didn’t wait for her mother to leave. Betty stalked out into the hallway and left her mother behind. She was already pulling her phone contacts up to ask Mary Andrews about filing for a restraining order. As far as Betty was aware, she had no other legal or financial ties with her parents any longer. She’d send someone to the house to pack up her things, and put them in storage. At least her dad would let them in.

Jughead was nowhere to be found in the halls, either. Betty rushed out of the building, heading for the busses. Her eyes scanned the tinted windows, hoping to see the silhouette of a certain hat, but her efforts went unrewarded. As her second great surprise of the day, Archie popped open the door of the band’s bus and waved her over. 

“Hey, Betty,” he said cheerfully, completely unaware of anything that had happened. Betty reminded herself of that and tried to smile a little, though she could see that her expression was already killing the happiness of his greeting. Archie frowned as he noticed how upset she looked, glancing back at the building. “Is something wrong?” he asked.

“My mom,” she replied, sighing. “Have you seen Jughead?”

Archie shook his head. “No, I was going to ask you the same thing.”

She blinked up at him. “You were?” she asked. He stepped back, letting her onto the step of the bus. As the door wooshed closed behind her, Betty glanced over and saw that Veronica’s curtains were still tightly drawn. Chuck appeared to be sleeping at last, too.

“I need to show him some stuff I wrote,” Archie said, unable to cap his earlier excitement for long. “He and I were working on a few things together at home, and I had the best idea last night--can you let him know when you see him?”

Betty nodded, and cursed her traitorous lip for trembling. Archie saw, of course, and immediately put a hand on her upper arm. His excitement died in an instant. Before he could say anything, she admitted, “I think my mom told Harold about him.” At that point, small tears began to prick their way out of her eyes again. “She caught us in a dressing room together, and she sent him away. I’m not sure where he went.”

Archie pulled her into a comforting hug, like they were still eight years old and someone had called her a noodle head. Even then, he'd always been there to watch out for her. She felt herself relax a bit, and felt even better when he said, “We’ll talk to Harold, don’t worry. Jughead is a friend to all of us, now. I’m sure it will be fine, Betty.”

She straightened, wiping her tears away. Just as she opened her mouth to reply, her phone buzzed. She glanced down automatically.

**J: Harold called. Flying to LA, just hung up with him.**

**J: He sent a car. Meet you in New York tomorrow.**

**J: Don’t worry. We’re fine. I love you.**

Archie was close enough to see the messages, of course. Betty looked up at him after she read them, unable to control her feeling of complete panic. 

“He sent a car? And got an immediate flight?” she asked, her voice rising shrilly. Short of putting him on a private jet, Harold had put hundreds of miles between Betty and her boyfriend almost as soon as he found out about them. Betty could only assume that Jughead had been summoned across the country for a bad reason. “We need to call Harold, now.”

Archie nodded, and in an attempt to help calm her nerves, he pointed out, “Jughead says he’s fine, though. And not to worry.”

He knew perfectly well that he deserved the eye roll Betty leveled in response. She cued up their manager’s contact and pressed the tiny camcorder to video call him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My apologies for the long break! I had no internet last weekend. Like none at all. Except for a few minutes when I literally climbed a mountain and got some service at the top. Why is there service 2500 feet in the air, but not in the surrounding park? It's a mystery.
> 
> Also, currently maintaining an A in my 6000 level literature class, so whoooo! My professor ends every email with “Onward!” Huzzah! Thank you for your patience everyone!
> 
> Next chapter: Things get a bit darker, but a couple of issues are resolved.


	10. A Rough Night

Betty sat on the edge of the stretcher in the back of the ambulance, wrapped in a mylar blanket. At least they’d convinced the police to turn off their lights, and the crowd of onlookers had been held back by the city officers. If anyone had been snapping photos as she came out of the building, the most they’d gotten was the image of a grown woman’s ankles beneath the silver blanket, like a poorly designed Halloween sheet ghost. 

The paramedic sitting on the bench across from her smiled apologetically, looking up from their phone. “We’re going to take you over to the hospital, just to get checked out.”

She sighed. “I’m fine,” she said, probably for the hundredth time. “Just a few bruises, I swear.”

He shrugged and held up his hands in the universal sign of surrender. “It’s out of our hands,” he explained. “Your manager is insisting on a full check, and my supervisor is insisting on the same thing. Since you hit your head, they want to make sure there’s nothing to worry about.”

Betty’s hand rose unconsciously to the back of her skull. It was still throbbing, but it didn’t hurt any worse than a dull headache. She felt like going to the hospital for a scan was completely unnecessary, but the paramedic was right. It was out of his hands, and she begrudgingly recognized that everyone was just looking out for her. Fighting against them would be childish. And she was so tired. It was a weariness that wasn’t just physical. After everything that happened, the exhaustion was chewing away at her spirit, edging into her mind like a haze that clouded every thought she had.

Another paramedic got into the cab of the ambulance, shutting the door with a resolute bang. Betty flinched at the sound as it pierced her throbbing head like a physical blow. Maybe letting them check her wasn’t a bad idea.

Her companion leaned back against the wall and braced himself as the driver pulled away from the curb. They drove through the city without the lights or sirens, leisurely making their way toward the hospital. After all, Betty’s condition wasn’t critical. She held onto the handles at the edge of the stretcher to brace herself against the natural swaying of the vehicle. A few times, she closed her eyes and had to fight against the balmy nothingness of the sleep that threatened to overtake her.

The paramedic looked sharply at her each time, relaxing as she opened her eyes and focused clearly.

She’d left her phone at the venue, she realized. Betty knew that Jughead was going to panic when he heard what happened. She needed to contact him before he heard rumors, to tell him about the situation herself. Still, he was going to be furious that he hadn’t been there, and it would be up to her to convince him not to blame himself. If anyone was to blame for what had happened, more than anyone it would be her mother. Her sudden intrusion into the dressing room had set off a chain of events that left Betty in the venue without a bodyguard at the end of the night.

At the hospital, the ambulance drove past the emergency entrance and stopped outside a small, nondescript door at the back of the building. The driver glanced back, looking at his partner. 

“Smith said to bring her in here, for privacy. Take her up the elevator to 307A.”

Her companion nodded, rising from the bench. He reached out and grasped her elbow just enough to provide her balance, leading her out of the ambulance and into the cool navy twilight of the parking lot. Walking Betty through the little door, he escorted her into a nearby elevator and punched the button for the third floor. She swayed slightly on her feet, and with his hand on her elbow, the paramedic noticed.

“Hold on, Betty. We’re almost there,” he said, frowning. “Are you feeling dizzy?”

She shook her head. “Just tired,” she admitted. 

He looked into her eyes with a businesslike intensity, looking away when the elevator dinged and the doors slid open. The hand on her arm tightened slightly, not uncomfortably, as he led her down the hall and into the first room beyond the double doors. Since they’d left the ambulance, the only soul she’d seen was the nurse behind the desk in the third floor landing. Her paramedics had successfully gotten her there without detection.

He led her to the hospital bed and only let go of her arm once she was seated. “The doctor will be right in,” he said, picking up a clipboard from the tray by the door and making a note.

With that, he left. Betty sat there momentarily, feeling a little spike of panic. The last time she’d been alone...but this was a hospital, and hardly anyone had even seen her come in here. She was as safe as she was going to get, for the time being. In a few minutes, a doctor would come to give her the all-clear, and she’d be back on the tour bus on her way to New York within the hour. While she was waiting, she might as well relax a little. Betty drew her legs onto the bed and put her head down. Her eyes were closed before her cheek met the pillow.

\---------------

When Jughead stepped off his six hour flight, technically only three hours had passed since he’d gotten on. His writer-mind briefly thought of wormholes, time-jumps, and a myriad of other descriptors rooted in science fiction. Dismissing the ideas, he glanced around the airport.

No one was waiting for him, no cameras pointed in his face, no fans struggling to covertly photograph him as he made his way toward the arrival exit. He felt a pang of pity for his girlfriend, not for the first time. As he walked down the stairs and into the exhaust-laden air of the pick up area, he was essentially anonymous to everyone around him. He signaled to a taxi and climbed in the back, glancing down at his phone for Harold’s address.

The ride to the building was silent, with the taxi driver deftly navigating the complex highways of LA more quickly than Jughead could follow. He’d been there before, when Harold flew him out for his interview, but even then he’d been overwhelmed by the sheer volume of the traffic. New York had its commuters, sure, but the scale of LA’s highways were simply monumental.

He paid the driver at the circular drive in front of Harold’s lobby, closing the back door. Turning, Jughead regarded the automatic sliding doors of the building and sighed inwardly. Whatever fate Harold had in store for him, he knew it wasn’t going to be good. He’d told Betty they were fine, but that was mostly because he knew that she was going to panic when she discovered that he was gone. Jughead hadn’t wanted to leave her in the clutches of her mother, but Harold left no room for argument when he’d called. Once again, he was not in control of his own fate.

He stood in the elevator and checked his phone, but Betty hadn’t messaged him, or the messages were still waiting to come through. Thumbing his way into Snapchat, he realized his mistake and swiped up the control panel from the bottom of the screen. Sure enough, airplane mode was still on. 

A flood of text messages came through, so quickly that his phone buzzed in his fingers for the duration of the elevator ride. Stepping onto the landing, he opened his messaging app and scrolled up to see what Betty had said before he let Harold know he’d arrived.

_B: I got rid of my mom, for good_

_B: she told harold tho_

_B: have a safe flight, text me when you get there_

_B: I love you, let me know what’s going on_

_B: I know we will make it work, but I’m worried_

_B: [sad emoji]_

_B: I wish my life wasn’t like this._

_B: you make me so happy Jug, and if I didn’t have this job, we wouldn’t have these problems_

_B: all of this is my fault_

_B: plus my insane mother_

_B: i’m so sorry to mess up your life too_

He sighed, seeing that Betty was blaming herself again for what had happened. Like he wasn’t aware that dating a celebrity would come with certain inconveniences. Like he hadn’t agreed to keep their relationship secret for her sake. Like he didn’t know that her mother was a tigress, and probably the originator of those stress gouges on the inside of Betty’s palms. That was just the sort of person Betty was, though--she’d blame herself for the troubles of everyone around her, if they let her. Jughead wished that he’d been able to get these messages in the air, and hoped that she’d hadn’t been tearing herself up for hours.

**J: I just got here. None of this is your fault, Betty. Please stop worrying. I’ll let you know what Harold says, and we can figure this out together. I love you so much. My life was messed up a long time ago, and you’re the only thing in years that has made any sort of sense to me. Trust me, Betty. This isn’t the worst thing I’ve dealt with.**

He felt like he’d text messaged her a novella, but all of her messages made him feel justified in doing so. Hopefully hearing from him would reassure her and reduce her worrying a bit. She’d be on stage right now, if he was figuring out the time difference properly, or getting ready to perform. There was a chance that she wouldn’t see his messages until after the concert. Jughead couldn’t wait to get back on a plane and return to her side. He approached Harold’s door, ready to get their meeting over with.

Almost immediately after he knocked, the door swung inward. Harold regarded him, his suit impeccable, his hair combed perfectly into place. Nevermind that Alice’s messages had woken him well before dawn--Harold Fry looked like he’d been born ready for this business meeting. He stepped to the side and gestured Jughead inside, his expression unreadable.

“Hi, Mr. Fry,” Jughead said, feeling like a bit of formality couldn’t hurt the situation.

“Hello, Forsythe,” Harold replied, intentionally using Jughead’s birth name. He winced. At his interview, when he’d told Harold about his nickname, there had been no hesitation as the manager switched over to using it. Apparently, this formal meeting was going to forego familiarities.

Harold moved around his desk and sat down, gesturing for Jughead to choose a seat as well. It had been months since he’d sat in one of these chairs, and Jughead felt even less comfortable now than he had back then. 

“What can I do for you, Mr. Fry?” Jughead asked, figuring that he may as well get this over with. He was expecting to hear one thing come out of Harold’s mouth, after the rushed flight, the enraged phone call, and the discovery Betty’s mother had made. It was something he was dreading, because who didn’t dread hearing that they would need to start putting out job applications, going to interviews, cleaning up their resume…

“I’m reassigning you,” Harold announced calmly.

Jughead blinked, his brows drawing together immediately. “What?” he asked, confused. His boss leaned back in his chair, maintaining eye contact until Jughead glanced away. Harold remained silent, unwilling to repeat himself. After a few moments, when that became apparent, Jughead said, “Where?”

Harold shrugged. “That has yet to be determined. Until you are placed with your next assignment, I’ll be putting you up in a hotel near here. It’s no longer prudent for you to be working with the clients I hired you for.”

He straightened, Harold’s words falling like hammer blows on his heart. It would be childish to protest that the friendship with Archie was the first pure friendship he’d developed in as long as he could remember, and even more futile to explain that the love he felt for Betty was so natural and immense that it felt like more necessary to his existence than breathing. That was why Harold was assigning him, of course. He’d gotten too close with the celebrities he was supposed to be guarding.

“I understand,” Jughead said simply. There was nothing he could say to Harold to change his mind, and he knew that. Jughead Jones wasn’t the sort of person who would beg, either. He was good at doing what he was told, just like his father--especially when money was involved. For the time being, Harold was the one providing his paychecks. Until he got his debts squared away, that was worth more than his feelings.

Harold leaned forward and templed his fingers, pressing his lips against them thoughtfully as he regarded Jughead. After his watery, bloodshot eyes had wormed their way into Jughead’s psyche to a level that had him nearly convinced Harold was trying to read his mind, he spoke. “What was the one thing I asked during your interview, Forsythe?”

Jughead felt that question like a weight, dragging his self-respect down alongside his tabled pride. “If I could be trusted to protect the band without engaging them personally.” He hadn’t known that Betty Cooper would be his fucking soul mate, of course. How could he know that, when he’d yet to see her in all her perfect glory? Before he saw that she was flawed, maybe just as much as he was, and realized that he loved her even more for that? Before she’d accepted him unquestioningly, defended him, allowed him into her life-- _and let him stay there?_

His boss cleared his throat. “Yes, I’m glad you remember. Well, I’ll make sure that your next assignment is one where we most certainly won’t encounter this sort of...trouble,” he mused, frowning. “Maybe a revival tour.”

Maybe that would be a good thing, after all, Jughead thought wryly. How many old people would be climbing over the barriers to touch their teenage idols? He probably wouldn’t even need to give anyone water, since they were grown enough to know their own limits. With his torso still aching from the heavy work he’d done the night before, lifting fan after fan into the trench for the paramedics, bouncing at a revival concert didn’t sound half bad. 

Except that Betty would be halfway across the country, without him, for months.

When he’d taken this job, he’d been completely alone in the world. With his dad’s trial over, and his mother still estranged, he’d been faced with a choice of his own. Returning to the Serpents was out of the question, after the plea they’d accepted. 

Like Harold really could read his mind, he cleared his throat again in that instant and said, “But before I can place you anywhere else, Mr. Jones, you’ll need to explain to me why your records are sealed.”

\-----------------

Betty followed Archie and Veronica backstage after they finished their final encore. It had been the first show of the tour that Betty hadn’t watched a certain grey knit head make its way back and forth along the edge of the stage. Instead, Harold’s new security team arrived at the last moment, filling that trench with five men who looked like they could each fit two of her boyfriend inside each of their highly muscular torsos. Pittsburgh had behaved itself for the new security, and only a few fans had passed out and needed to be rescued from the front lines. At least when Jughead was watering them, they tended to make it through the entire show.

She’d volunteered for the final shower, wanting a moment to herself to process everything that had happened. Harold reassured Archie and Betty that he wasn’t going to fire Jughead, but insisted that it had been necessary to speak with him in person to renegotiate the terms of his employment. That seemed strange, but there was no arguing when Jughead was already traveling hundreds of miles per hour to meet him. It would be hours before his flight landed, and Betty halfheartedly checked her phone to see if he’d said anything yet.  
Veronica emerged from the bathroom, toweling off her hair, and she smiled over at Betty. “Enjoying that moscato?” she asked, trying to be lighthearted. Betty didn’t answer, her eyes hungerly reading over the long message that Jughead had sent her. Feeling her eyes prick with tears, she locked her phone and dropped it onto the couch, taking a long drink of her wine in an attempt to hide her expression from Veronica.

Her best friend wasn’t buying it, of course. Leaving her towel around her shoulders, she dropped into the unoccupied space next to Betty. Wordlessly, Veronica put her arms out and pulled Betty into a comforting hug.

“Is it worse than being turned down after cheerleading tryouts?” Veronica asked, her tone teasing. Betty glanced over, unable to stop a smirk from tugging at the corners of her lips. Recalling how badly she’d taken Cheryl Blossom’s denial, and how she’d felt at that time like her world was coming to an end, strangely helped her find the fortitude to lift her chin. She’d lived through that, and whatever Harold had in store for them now, she’d live through it too.

“Thanks, V,” she whispered, mirroring Veronica’s smile. “You always know what to say.”

Veronica shrugged one shoulder. She stood up, letting her towel fall to a heap on the ground, and held out a hand to Betty. 

“Let’s get out of this place, as soon as we can,” she said, glancing around. “We’ll ask Harold to choose a different venue if we come back to Pittsburgh again. There’s bad energy here.”

Betty nodded, sighing. There had been plenty of good energy, before her mother had turned up. Alice always had a way of sucking the joy out of a place, though. The sooner she got herself ready to go, the sooner they would be back on the road to New York--and, hopefully, Jughead would meet them there. Betty let Veronica pull her up off the couch, feeling better for the first time all evening.

“I’ll be on the bus,” Veronica said lightly, picking up her things and drifting toward the door. Betty let herself into the bathroom and turned the lock. She showered quickly, just enough to rinse away the makeup she’d applied before the show and the sweat she’d accumulated under the lights. Stepping out into the vapor that filled the room, she ran a towel over her skin and smiled to herself as she thought about the positive reaction she’d had to the selfies she sent Jughead the night before. Maybe she should take a few today, since he was on the opposite side of the country. Just to remind him that she was thinking of him.

But she realized that she’d left her phone sitting on the couch in the green room. Wrapping her towel tightly around her body, Betty clicked the lock aside and stepped out into the chilled air, feeling goosebumps rise over her arms and legs as her body registered the temperature difference. Just as her hand closed around her phone, the main door of the green room opened. She looked up in surprise, the hand cinching her towel closed tightening automatically.

A man she didn’t recognize at all stood in the doorway, staring like he definitely recognized _her_. It seemed like time stopped for a moment. Maybe that was just how she felt while she forgot to breathe. The only thing her mind was registering was alarm, as she realized that she was naked and alone with a complete stranger-- _and he was coming toward her, FAST._

Betty backed up, her phone still clutched in her hand. She felt the back of her legs hit a coffee table unexpectedly, and she lost her balance. As she fell backward, she threw an arm back to brace herself. It was either her phone or the towel, and in the split second that she had to decide, her brain automatically chose her decency over her loyalty to Apple. She was still clutching her towel when she felt a white-hot burst of pain erupt at the back of her head, momentarily causing everything in the room to fade out of her vision.

The stranger’s hand closed around her left bicep, pulling her upward. “Hey!” he said sharply, his face too close to hers. Then, “Fuck,” as she became limp in his grasp, his fingers becoming painful as he struggled to keep her from falling a second time.

When Betty regained her consciousness, she realized that both her phone and her towel were somewhere on the ground beneath her. Her eyes focused on the intruder’s chest first, barely picking out the word “SECURITY” printed in grey on black jersey. Frowning, she tried to look up at his face, but she realized that he’d maneuvered her onto the couch after she’d fainted. She became immediately distracted as she felt him nudging a denim-clad knee between her thighs. 

Betty reacted instantly, throwing her arms up in defense and curling her body to impede him as much as possible. In the same breath, she started to scream.

“Oh, fuck, fuck--” he said, leaping away like she’d burned him. The intruder bent over for the tiniest of moments, then made a quick escape through the door.

Betty didn’t stop screaming after he left. Some vestige of her conscious mind realizing that the noise was going to draw people, she pushed herself up off the couch enough to snag Veronica’s dirty clothes off the ground and pull them onto her body. Sinking onto the edge of the couch, she didn’t have to wait long before two other unfamiliar security guards and Bethany burst into the room.

“Betty!” Bethany exclaimed, rushing over to her. “What happened?”

Looking at the guards, Betty pressed herself further into the back of the couch and shook her head. “Get them out of here,” she gasped to her assistant. Her eyes filled with tears as she realized that she hadn’t gotten a clear look at her attacker--other than dark hair and a muscular build, which all of them seemed to have, she couldn’t give the police anything to go on. At least she’d come back to herself when she had, or she suspected that things could have gotten infinitely worse. 

The security guards stepped out of the room. Bethany had her phone out, and she was already calling the emergency number. Once she’d let the dispatcher know that someone had been assaulted, she turned her full attention to Betty.

“Are you hurt?” she asked, frowning.

Betty shook her head, but the movement made the whole room spin. She winced and reconsidered, admitting, “I hit my head a little bit, but I think I’ll be fine.”

Bethany looked outraged on Betty’s behalf, glaring over at the door. “I’ll let Harold know about this personally. He calls Jughead away, and this happens. This is unacceptable, you clearly need a personal bodyguard, Betty.” The assistant was just talking to fill the silence, trying to make Betty feel better, but the irony of the situation hadn’t escaped her, either. She had half a mind to call Harold herself. If Jughead had been here, he would have been standing in the hall outside the door while she finished getting herself changed, and this never would have happened. Not to mention--the intruder had looked like one of the guys with the security company that Harold had hired. She was even more confused by the idea that this might have been one of their own people, rather than an overzealous reporter or a crazed fan. What possible motive could someone have for attacking her, like this?

By the time the emergency response team arrived, Archie, Veronica, and Chuck had joined Betty in the green room along with several other members of their travelling team. Lisa, the stage manager, was on the phone with Harold. She had to keep gesturing to Bethany to be quiet as the outraged girl continually offered the things she thought that their manager needed to hear about the situation. With one finger in her ear, Lisa did her best to relay the events of the evening.

A female police officer took Betty’s statement, frowning at her lack of description. The officer glanced over at the doorway as Betty explained what she remembered, probably thinking about the identical men she’d passed on her way into the room. Betty’s vague description could have implicated anyone on the security team.

“That’s fine, Miss Cooper, thanks,” the officer said shortly, as Betty apologized that she didn’t have any more specific details to offer. “One last thing, was anything taken?”

Betty shook her head, frowning. “I don’t think so,” she said, looking around.

The officer glanced around too, narrowing her eyes as she saw something on the ground. Rising from her space on the couch next to Betty, she leaned over and picked it up.

“Do you recognize this, Miss Cooper?” she asked.

Betty felt her heart leap into her throat. It was her phone case--sans the phone. “Yes,” she gulped, her mind racing. What could someone do with her phone, if they’d gotten a hold of it? She had it password protected, and programmed only to unlock with her fingerprint. Without Betty’s password, it was useless. “It’s my phone case--so I guess they took my phone,” she admitted.

The officer made a note and produced a bag from her pocket, dropping the case inside. She smiled curtly at Betty. “I’ll check this for fingerprints at the station,” she explained. “Phones tend to be covered in them, but maybe we can get something clear.”

Betty nodded, understanding that the officer was telling her it was a long shot. At the conclusion of the interview, the officer handed her over to the care of the paramedics that had come along. Since Betty didn’t appear to be in any immediate medical danger, they’d hung back while the officer took her statement. Now, they moved forward, weilding a small flashlight and a stethoscope. 

“How does your head feel, Miss Cooper?” one paramedic asked, shining the light into her eyes.

She shrugged. “Fine, I guess,” she said, blinking after the blinding light had obscured her vision. 

Archie was talking adamantly with the police officer, demanding to know why they couldn’t do anything quickly about the situation. Betty saw Veronica put her hand on his arm and say something softly, glancing over at Betty. She watched the scene with a curious detachment, not really feeling any sort of emotion about it. That seemed strange, since everyone in the room looked so extremely upset on her behalf. Betty wondered if she should try explaining that to the paramedics, but the thought quickly followed that they could just as easily put her in a psych ward as they could discharge her. She decided to remain silent.

“Let’s take you out to the ambulance,” the first paramedic said. “We’ll make sure that the crowd doesn’t see you, but in high profile situations like this it’s protocol to have a doctor clear you.”

Betty nodded to show her understanding. She took the silver blanket when they offered it to her, following their lead and rising from the couch. Veronica saw her movement and turned away from Archie’s argument with the officer, coming to Betty’s side in an instant.

“What’s going on?” she asked, frowning.

Betty did her best to reassure her. “They have to clear me at the hospital. It’s fine,” she added.

Veronica shook her head, glancing down at the cell phone in her hand. “No, Betty, it’s not fine,” she said. “Harold wants all of us to head on to the next venue, and for you to meet us there tomorrow. But I don’t want to leave you,” she said, her voice hitching. As the last person who’d been with Betty, Veronica was probably feeling all sorts of guilt about what had happened to her friend. Betty understood that, so she put on her best smile and looked over at the paramedics.

“I’ll be okay, Veronica. If that’s what you have to do, then do it. I’ll see you tomorrow,” she promised. 

Veronica looked like she was preparing to fight someone too, at that point. Maybe Archie had rubbed off on her. But she bit back whatever retort was on the tip of her tongue at Betty’s reassurances, raising a hand to her face to anxiously cover her mouth. 

Betty let the paramedics lead her outside, pausing only to tug the silver blanket over her head.

\----------------

Jughead was still sitting in Harold’s office when he got the call. Though it wasn’t legal, and it definitely wasn’t any of Harold’s damn business, he’d been explaining the bare bones of the sticky situation that had nearly destroyed his life—and had definitely destroyed his dad’s, instead. Just as Jughead was coming to explain the terms of his brief probation and the plea deal he and his dad had accepted, Harold’s office phone shrilly cut through his thoughts.

He glanced over at the caller ID, his brows coming together immediately. “I have to take this, Forsythe,” Harold said, murmuring somewhat apologetically. 

He picked up the vintage-style receiver and raised it to his ear. “Hello?” Harold said, his blinking intensifying as the person on the other end launched into a wordy explanation of whatever they’d called about.

Once or twice, as Jughead waited patiently for the call to end, he noticed that Harold was looking at him oddly. At one point during the conversation, in which Harold spoke very little, his face became a shade of ashy grey that Jughead had only seen on human beings once or twice in his life—usually, when they received some sort of terribly unexpected news. He wondered what sort of wreckage was unfolding in Harold’s life, feeling a small pang of sympathy. Even if Harold was about to make Jughead’s situation with Betty infinitely more complicated than it had been already, Jughead understood enough about managing people to know that it was simply business. He’d learned long ago that grudges got you nothing but pain in the long run.

Suddenly, Harold took charge of the conversation. He issued a steady series of commands, his voice level, amidst frequent pauses as he waited for brief answers or affirmation on the other end. Jughead couldn’t help listening.

“Yes, of course. I’ll see to it. I’ll call them right now, we’ll get a roster. No, the company does the background checks. Yes, see if they’ll send me the report. And she’s unharmed? What does that mean? Where did they take her? Can you send me that number? Alright, check in by midnight and let me know where you are. Take everyone else onward, we’ll fly her there tomorrow. Then if we need to cancel, we’ll cancel.”

Since it sounded strangely like Harold was discussing a tour, Jughead’s imagination began to rapidly fill in outlandish scenarios that might have impacted The Archies. By the time Harold was hanging up, though, a creeping feeling of dread had permeated Jughead’s imagination. He looked across the desk at the man as he pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and swiped it across his suddenly sweaty face, looking into the corner of the room as if Jughead had vanished.

“Everything okay?” Jughead asked, after several minutes of silence passed.

Harold looked up at him in slight shock, like he’d actually forgotten that Jughead was in the room. He’d never once acted so discomposed in Jughead’s presence, and it was more than a little unnerving. Harold opened and closed his mouth a few times, finally sputtering as he attempted to clear his throat. It would have looked utterly comical in different circumstances, Jughead observed.

“Betty,” Harold said, the color draining out of his face. As he said her name, Jughead felt like someone had punched an icy hand into his gut and clenched it around his lungs. He didn’t realize that he’d risen from his chair until he was leaning over the desk, both hands braced on either side of Harold’s calendar pad. 

“What happened?” Jughead demanded, his voice so low that it was nearly a growl.

Harold blinked up at him, wiping the handkerchief uselessly over his face again. Rather than explaining, Jughead’s tone seemed to goad him into action. He scrambled for the phone, frantically typing in a number he’d apparently memorized. “We need to get to you Pittsburgh, now,” he said.

Whatever plans Harold might have entertained about splitting them up had apparently been forgotten. As he dialed, Jughead leaned back and struggled to fish his own cell phone out of his pocket, unlocking the screen impatiently. 

It stared back—blank, mocking, uninformed. No messages from Betty, no messages from Archie, just…nothing. 

He tapped his way into his contacts, typing out a message so quickly he didn’t have time to worry about grammar. Maybe a first, for Jughead.

**J: Betty, are you okay?**

**J: Harold just got a call about you**

**J: please let me know what’s going on**

He paused, hoping to see the ellipses bubble appear that meant she was texting him back. But the quick, more dreadful thought occurred to him that Betty might not be able to respond, and so he tapped the screen a few more times and sent a few more messages.

**J: archie it’s jug**

**J: what happened to Betty?**

This time, the answering ellipses were almost instantaneous. 

A: she’ll be okay

A: someone attacked her backstage

A: new security, as far as we know

A: they took her phone

He stared at that message for a moment, blinking. Something ancient, ugly, and feral was twisting its way through his gut at that moment, and it was about to rear its head at Harold. Seeing Archie’s last message, realizing that he might have been sending his text messages to whatever bastard had attacked Betty, was exactly what it needed to tip Jughead over the edge.

“The _security_ ,” he hissed, curling his hands into fists. “What the _fuck_ , Harold?”

The manager blinked over at him, still cradling the phone against his ear. “Yes, that will be fine,” he said to the person on the other end, adding, “Thank you,” like a whimper. He set the phone down and closed his eyes, drawing in a long breath before regarding Jughead. Again, Harold looked at him in silence. This time, his penetrating stare wasn’t doing anything to unsettle the young man hardly seated in the opposite chair. It was Harold who glanced away first, unable to look Jughead’s fury in the eye for more than a couple of minutes.

“Say something,” Jughead snapped. In his mind, he was rehashing all the darkest, most terrifying things he’d ever done in his life. They all seemed too good for Harold Fry, who’d conspired to leave Betty unprotected and exposed her to whatever terrible thing had happened in his absence. That accusation was probably what Harold saw when he looked into Jughead’s eyes, what made him look hastily away.

Harold pushed himself out of his seat, gesturing toward the door without making eye contact. “You’re going to miss your flight,” he said meekly. “And what we discussed…forget it, Jughead.”

————————

Betty lay back on the stretcher, listening to the patient whirr and buzz of the machinery in the room. After the doctor had checked her over, verifying the bruises documented by the paramedics were only bruises, he’d decided to order a CT scan to fully check the bump on her head. As she understood it, she was demonstrating signs of a mild concussion.

“Alright, Betty, just hold still. You might hear some sounds, but do your best not to move your head,” the technician explained. Even her voice was soothing, robotic. Betty closed her eyes as she felt the stretcher begin to move, rolling her into the center of the portal-like machine.

As she lay there, she wondered whether anyone had told her mother what had happened yet. In a roundabout way, since her mom was the one that had instigated Jughead being called out to LA, it was her mom’s fault that she’d been alone in the dressing room. Not that she felt she could reasonably blame her mother for what had happened, but she hoped that news of the incident would make Alice feel at least a tiny bit guilty. Betty knew that her personal demons of anxiety far outstripped those that plagued other people, but just this once she hoped that her mother would feel an iota of what she’d feel if she’d contributed to something so horrible.

The technician slid the stretcher out and smiled down at Betty. “Alright, Miss Cooper, let’s get you back to your room. We’ll have the doctor look over these results and let you know when you can get out of here.”

Betty smiled back, letting the technician help her off the table. As she walked to the door, she was unable to hold back an overpowering yawn.

The technician saw, and glanced down at her watch. “Long day for you, Miss Cooper. It’s almost 3 in the morning.”

Betty blinked, surprised. Without her phone, she’d had no idea what time it was. “Really? That late?” she asked.

Her companion shrugged. “Time has a way of flying by here when you’re waiting,” she commented. “Try to get some sleep while the doctor reviews your results. We’ll have a nurse on standby.”

Betty nodded, yawning again as she reached her room. Though there was space for two patients inside, in deference to her celebrity status, she hadn’t been assigned a roommate. Actually, through the whole ordeal, the emergency responders of Pittsburgh had been very cognizant of maintaining her privacy. She felt immensely grateful.

Given a bed, even a hospital bed, that wasn’t bumping over every pothole and patch of asphalt it could possibly find, and she fell into a blissful, dreamless haze—thankfully, deep. When she opened her eyes again, sunlight was streaming through the slats of the blinds.

She blinked, stifling a yawn.

“Betty?” asked a deep voice—and it was like a balm to her wounded soul. As it washed through her being, she turned her wide and searching eyes into the room to find its source.

He was leaning against the edge of her bed, his beanie on her blanket. A curl of dark hair was falling forward over his eyes, and he looked like he hadn’t slept at all. But Jughead smiled when their eyes met, and he leaned forward to press his lips against hers without hesitation. Betty smiled in relief and snaked her fingers into the hair at the nape of his neck, pulling him down against her.

Jughead pulled away first, using a finger to brush a lock of hair away from her eyes.

“How did you get here?” she asked, unable to quell the happiness she felt at seeing him. 

“I flew,” Jughead said. His voice was gravelly with exhaustion.

Betty pulled him down again, this time taking her time about kissing him. She let her lips part and slid her tongue against his, nearly sighing at the comforting warmth she found there. It was a taste that she’d never tire of, she knew.

A knock at the door jolted them apart. This time, no unwelcome relatives burst in to disrupt the way they chose to enjoy one another’s company. Instead, a young doctor holding a clipboard and a file smiled apologetically and made his way into the room.

“Sorry to interrupt,” he said. Jughead was already straightening respectfully. Before he could get too far away, Betty tucked her hand into his and wove their fingers together. At her touch, Jughead squeezed reassuringly. The doctor didn’t notice their exchange, flipping through his paperwork until he was able to locate the information he needed to convey. “Good news, Miss Cooper,” he announced with a smile. “Your concussion is mild, and there are no signs of any internal bleeding or swelling at this time.”

Betty nodded, and Jughead said, “Is it possible for those things to happen later?”

The doctor shook his head, expression still pleasant. “No, at this point Miss Cooper is out of the woods. I’m going to recommend that she continue getting plenty of rest, and that her physical activity is limited for a few days until we’re sure she’s fully recovered.” He paused, considering, then said, “No unusual exercise. You should be capable of performing, but no aerobic dancing.”

“That’s not a problem,” she agreed. “But otherwise, I’m okay? I can go?”

He flipped to another page in the file, a frown flickering over his face. The doctor scanned the information, glancing up at them. “There’s one other thing,” he said. Something about the way he hesitated made Betty’s heart leap into her throat. She felt her hand unconsciously tighten on Jughead’s and she glanced over at him. He was looking steadily at the doctor, his expression impassive.

“What is it?” she asked, turning her attention back to the doctor.

He looked down at the paperwork again. “The information you gave to the nurse at intake stated that you receive Depo Provera injections regularly. The timing just happens to work out so that you’re due for another dose. We can get that for you before you’re discharged, save you another appointment.”

She felt a wash of relief. The way he’d hesitated, Betty was worried they’d found some other sort of medical problem when they’d checked her out. She nodded and smiled lightly. “Sure, that would be helpful,” she agreed. 

The doctor nodded and made a note. “I’ll send in a nurse for that, and you can get on your way. Take care, Miss Cooper. If you feel any dizziness or confusion within the next few days, make sure that you get immediate medical attention.”

With that, he departed. Betty sat up, realizing as she did so that she was still wearing Veronica’s dirty clothes from the day before. She felt herself flush. Jughead squeezed her hand again before letting go, leaning down and picking up a bag off the ground. 

“The nurse said this was all you brought in,” he said, placing the bag on the bed. Betty glanced inside and nodded. She’d left most of her things in the green room—the road staff had most likely picked it up before they’d left. If not, everything was replaceable. Stretching, she realized that Veronica’s shirt was exposing more of her midriff than she usually liked to display. Her petite friend had never had any trouble borrowing clothes from Betty, but the exchange had hardly ever worked in reverse. She’d have to do something about her clothes as soon as she could.

“When did you get here?” Betty asked her boyfriend, swinging her legs over the side of the bed.

“A little after seven,” Jughead replied mildly. “Harold got me a direct flight.”

Betty’s eyebrows rose in alarm. “Oh, that’s right! What did he say when you got there? He promised us he wasn’t going to fire you, when Archie and I called.”

Jughead laughed shortly, without humor. “Well, he was going to reassign me to another client,” he said. Betty felt a spike of panic, not realizing that she’d reached out and taken his hand again until he ran his thumb tenderly over the side of her wrist. “I think he reconsidered,” he added softly. Jughead drew her hand to his lips, leaving a trail of fire where he pressed them against her skin. He closed his eyes and ran his cheek over their interlaced knuckles, a look of consternation shadowing his face. “I’m not leaving you again,” he said fiercely. 

Betty smirked, reaching out and pulling his body against hers. She tucked herself into the hollow of his shoulder, looking up at him. “Is that a promise?” she asked, her tone slightly teasing. 

He looked down and met her eyes, and the humor drained out of her expression at the heartbreakingly earnest expression he allowed her to see. Jughead’s lips twitched before he said, “Cross my heart.” Then she was kissing him, sealing the promise between them, tilting her head to let his tongue meet hers. As his hands slid around her hips and she let herself wrap her arms around him, she felt herself relax—truly relax, maybe for the first time in years.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next Chapter: mysteries, mysteries, and lots of plot!


	11. Break

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Plot, plot, plot in this one. Thanks for putting up with my inexcusably long break! I wrote a short series for the Southside Showcase last week, and I'm still mired down by summer classes. To make up for this relatively short update, I'll try to post again before the end of the week. Or is it better to get shorter chapters? Hmm...what do you think? Thank you again to my lovely beta reader, ephemeralexistence!

Jughead took meticulous care of Betty as she recovered from her mild concussion. No one batted an eye as he moved his backpack from the staff bus to the bus shared by the band--in fact, Archie and Chuck often included him in their late-night discussions of science fiction and action movies. If anyone in their company seemed remotely perturbed by the new arrangement, perhaps it was Bethany--who looked longingly after Jughead whenever they passed one another in the venues, her eyes wide and her cheeks coloring.

Betty was sure that he didn’t miss sleeping in a rotation with the driver and another staff member. In fact, she let him cuddle up against her in the narrow twin bed she’d claimed on the bus, which allowed him to sleep in every morning until she stretched and leisurely kissed him awake. They were perfectly chaste otherwise. It would just be too voyeuristic to try anything on a bus surrounded by four other people. Happy as they were to be reunited, they were both adults with the ability to control their desires. The first few nights, Jughead had curled next to her on his side, trying to take up as little space as possible. He’d occasionally woken her up in the middle of the night to make sure that her condition wasn’t worsening--a precaution that was unnecessary, but appreciated. But after a few days, and travelling another few hundred miles across the country, he’d begun to sleep pressed against her back, his arm over her hip and one leg twined in between hers.

As the sunlight filtered through the blinds on the bus window, Betty felt the soft pressure of his warm breath behind her ear. She blinked a few times to clear the sleep from her eyes. Gently, to keep from waking him up, she drew his arm a little tighter around herself and pressed back against his chest.

Jughead, still asleep, muttered, “Don’t go there,” in her ear. She’d realized a few days ago that he sometimes talked when he was in between sleeping and waking, but the things he said were usually related to whatever he was dreaming about and made very little sense. After a pause, he added, “If we need more money, we’ll get it.”

She wondered what he was dreaming about. Turning in his arms, Betty decided that it would be a good idea to wake him up. Whatever it was, it sounded like the dream was somewhat troubling.

“Jug,” she said softly, before pressing her lips against his. A few heartbeats passed before his hand gripped her hip a little bit more tightly and his lips softened against hers. As she drew back from the kiss and opened her eyes, she saw that his were still resolutely closed.

Before she could do or say anything else, he muttered, “Five more minutes.”

Betty was about to reply when she heard the curtain that separated her bed from Veronica’s being yanked aside. There had been too many times recently that her best friend looked at her with that expression of mixed panic and pity, and Betty was unfortunately becoming accustomed to what it meant. Alarmed, she turned away from her boyfriend and sat up.

“Betty, did you take these pictures?” the brunette asked, thrusting her phone forward. Betty’s hands closed around it, a frown already creasing her brow as her eyes focused on the screen. 

The selfies she’d sent Jughead a few weeks ago were staring back at her. Elbowing her sleeping boyfriend, she said, “Jughead, wake up,” in a serious tone. His blue eyes opened immediately at the urgency, blinking as he struggled to focus. “Did you send these to anyone?”

He looked at the screen for a split-second before meeting her eyes, a flash of terror sparking in his icy blue depths. Gravely, he said, “No, Betty. I swear. I would never do something like that.”

Veronica crossed her arms and narrowed her eyes, staring at him. “Are you sure about that, Betty?” she asked pointedly.

Betty was frowning, scrolling through the article that had been posted online. She bit her bottom lip as she evaluated the photos, confirming that there was no source listed on the website. Of course, she knew that she was going to be hearing from her mother and her manager again soon. This wasn’t like the set of photos that had been leaked after she was attacked in the shower. Quite obviously, Betty was knowledgeable and willingly posing in almost every shot.

Then she saw an image where her arm was blurred. Looking over at Jughead and feeling a cool burst of terror rise in her throat, she said, “Give me your phone, Jug.”

He sat up and immediately complied, unlocking the screen. “I really swear, Betty. You can check the whole thing. I saved them, but I never sent them anywhere.”

She shook her head, scrolling back through weeks of text messages until she found the attachments she was looking for. “I know you didn’t, Jughead,” she said, still focused.

Veronica made an exasperated sound. “How do you know, Betty?” she demanded. “We’ve only known Jughead for a few months. What if he’s just been waiting for a chance like this?”

Jughead opened his mouth to say something, but Betty spoke first. “This is why, V,” she said, holding out both phones. “I never sent Jughead this picture.”

Veronica looked back and forth between the screens. One was showing the text messages that they’d exchanged, and the other was showing the web page where the photos had been uploaded. On the web page, there were more than the images on Jughead’s phone.

After staring for a long moment, Veronica looked up at Betty. She nodded to her best friend in confirmation. The brunette shifted her gaze to Jughead, and her expression melted into one of complete contrition. “Well,” she said carefully. “It looks like I owe you an apology.”

He shook his head and waved one hand, dismissing her words. “You were just looking out for Betty,” he said. “No need, I understand. If I could delete the entire Internet today, I would.”

She was still staring down at the photos, worrying her bottom lip with her teeth. If Jughead hadn’t shared the images, when where had they come from? She’d taken these selfies so long ago, that they weren’t even stored on the phone she’d gotten after she was attacked backstage weeks before. Feeling a fresh wash of dread, she looked up at her boyfriend. “What does this mean?”

Veronica took a step backward. “I’ll let you both get up,” she said, excusing herself. With that, she slid the curtain closed again.

Jughead regarded Betty with an apprehensive look and said, “I think it means that someone unlocked your old phone.”

\--------------

Walking down the sidewalk of the main street next to the venue, Jughead was lost in thought when his phone buzzed in his pocket.

_Canaan Penitentiary,_ read the caller ID.

A spike of guilt shot through him at the sight. When they’d been in that part of the country, events had transpired so that Jughead never got a chance to go and visit his dad. He’d left a message with the warden to be conveyed to his old man, but since then there had been silence between them. Whenever his paycheck cleared, he made sure to send an electronic transfer to his dad’s commissary account, though. He knew that he owed him that.

He slid his thumb across the screen and raised his phone to his ear. “Hello?” he asked.

The familiar, gravelly voice sounded relieved. “Hey there, Jug,” said his dad, with a smile in his tone.

Jughead’s pace slowed. He’d been walking toward the grocery store two streets down, but now he wanted to take his time. Betty could wait until he got back. “What’s going on, dad?”

There was a long sigh on the other end of the line. “We have a problem, Jughead,” his dad said, as if Jughead hadn’t assumed that already. He waited, the pause indicating that he needed more information. Without preamble, his dad explained, “Malachi was just transferred into my cell block.”

A chill ran down the length of his back as he heard that name. Feeling a cold fist of dread clench around his stomach, Jughead said, “I thought the prosecutors promised that he would be kept in maximum security.”

There was a pause on the other line as noises filtered through the background. When his dad spoke again, his tone was low and hurried, slightly muffled as if he were holding a hand over his mouth and receiver. “Apparently he has good behavior,” he muttered. “Jug, I hate to do this to you, but I need you to contact an attorney for me. We need to prove that he was leading the Ghoulies.”

He knew that would be the only sure way of making sure that Malachi stayed as far from his father as possible, of course. Gang leaders were often identified and placed in supermax facilities, to prevent the type of violence that Jughead was certain would unfold if he were left anywhere near his dad. When it came down to it, Jughead knew more about the treatment of gang leaders in prison than he assumed most people did. If Malachi were exposed, he would be out of the picture...probably indefinitely.

They’d already tried to prove this before, of course. But the prosecutors had sworn that it would be too risky and unnecessary to prove Malachi’s full affiliation, since they already had the evidence they needed to put him away.

“I’ll make a call and see what I can do,” Jughead said quietly, wishing he could do something immediately. He knew that every moment his dad was near Malachi, it could be his last. “Call me tomorrow, dad,” he said, thinking that then at least he’d be able to check in on the old man.

His dad laughed dryly, without humor. “Well, boy, I’d do that, but I sort of lost my phone time recently at cards.”

It wasn’t surprising, but it was frustrating. Feeling a spike of irritation, Jughead snapped, “What?”

Speaking a little more loudly, probably so that someone nearby could hear, his dad said, “I lost a hand of poker to Body Bag, and I put my phone time for the month into the pot. To call you today, I had to work double yesterday to cover his kitchen shift and mine.”

There was a rumble on the other end, which sounded like someone else cursing. Jughead resisted the urge to roll his eyes. “Alright, old man,” he said, unable to keep the annoyance out of his tone. “Just try not to lose any more of your privileges until I get this taken care of.”

The line went dead, not that they needed any soppy goodbyes. Running his hand over his face, Jughead let out a long breath. 

When he reached the grocery store, he grabbed a small hand basket and walked quickly toward the candy isle. Picking up a bag of truffles, he dropped it into his basket. Turning toward the front of the store, he carefully selected a small flowering succulent and set it in the space next to the bag. As an afterthought in front of the checkout lines, he picked up a box of blondies and arranged them alongside the other items. He swiped his card and took his bag, hardly seeing the cashier as she wished him a good day.

Walking quickly back toward the venue, Jughead’s mind was racing. They’d have to get one of the other Ghoulies to testify, or find some other sort of irrefutable evidence against him. The police had already combed through cell phone records, emails, and physical mail looking for anything incriminating. From firsthand experience, Jughead knew that Malachi wasn’t stupid enough to give himself away like that. The only way to go about proving what needed to be proven would be through word of mouth, and it was going to take more testimony than his own.

The band was still rehearsing when he got back to the venue, just as he’d planned when he left for the store. Jughead stuck his head into the auditorium just enough to see Betty’s blonde ponytail bobbing as she hopped slightly in time to the beat, facing her bandmates as they practiced. Backing out quietly, he went back to the bus and stowed away his gifts for later.

Lying back on the bed that he still couldn’t fucking believe he got to share with his amazing girlfriend, he unlocked his phone and scrolled through his contacts. Without hesitation, Jughead made the call.

—————————-

With the low lights on, Betty could make out the faces of the fans in the crowd. She raised her tambourine and remembered to smile as she tapped it against her wrist, motioning to the crowd so that they would clap their hands in unison to her beat. Dancing her way behind Archie, she deftly passed the tambourine off to Veronica and made her way back to her bass in time for her cue.

As she slipped under the strap of her bass and let her fingers find their place, she glanced back out at the crowd and wondered. How many of them had seen the recently leaked photos? Had one of the people in this room stolen her phone, figured out how to unlock it, and then uploaded her pictures?

She didn’t realize that her vision had unfocused as she thought, her mind losing track of what she was supposed to be doing. Archie glanced back at her, frowning, and she saw Jughead turn briefly away from the crowd too.

Blinking, Betty shook her head and made her fingers find their way back into the song.

She wished, not for the first time, that this was the sort of career where she could take a break. She’d gone straight from school to stardom, and right now summer vacation sounded like a personal slice of heaven. Their break after Archie and Veronica’s exposure had been just a tiny taste of what she needed. Maybe she’d ask Jughead if he wanted to plan a trip after the tour was over. It would give them both a chance to relax.

When they left the stage for their first exit, Veronica caught her arm as soon as they were clear of the crowd’s line of sight. “Betty, are you okay?” she asked, her eyes wide with concern.

Smiling lightly at her friend, she said, “I’m fine. I just got a little distracted.”

Archie glanced significantly at Veronica, then back to Betty. “You’ve had a lot going on lately,” he observed. “Don’t worry about it, Betty.”

She nodded, and then they were heading back out to the stage, ready to deliver their encore. 

After the final bows, Betty followed Veronica and Chuck to the green room. Archie trailed behind, saying something to the stage crew about the sound system. Betty showered and changed quickly, heading out to the hallway and smiling as she caught sight of a familiar knit-covered head of curls.

“I’ll give you my number,” he was saying into his phone, glancing up as she emerged from the door. “No, that’s not a problem. Thanks again, Penny. I’ll text it, just email me the receipt.”

She gave him an inquisitive look as he hung up. Jughead sighed and shook his head, silently asking her to let it go. Betty slipped her hand into his in response, letting him turn her toward him with a tug. His other hand encircled her waist and he brushed a soft kiss over her lips.

“You okay, beautiful?” He had an affectionate look in his eyes that made her stomach do a low flip.

She was about to respond when she saw Bethany sidling by, trying not to look at them. With an inward sigh, she took a step back from her boyfriend. “I’m fine, Jug. Are you okay?”

He raised one shoulder. “I’m okay,” he said quietly. They walked toward the backstage door, and the busses. After they were briefly exposed to the cool night air, then sequestered in the privacy of the empty bus, he added, “I got a call from my dad today.”

Betty turned in surprise. Jughead hardly ever talked about his family. She knew that his dad had been involved somehow in turning him into a young gang leader, but otherwise she’d heard very little about the man who had raised him. Glad that he was opening up a bit about his family, and worried at the same time about scaring him from sharing any more, she said carefully, “How did that go?”

He dropped onto the edge of her bed. “I had to call our attorney,” he admitted. The fact that they _had_ an attorney was news to her, but Jughead said it so matter of factly that she didn’t comment.

Betty sat down next to him, putting her hand on his leg in support. “Is he okay?” she asked.

Jughead glanced at her and sighed. Hesitantly, he shook his head. “He’s not, but I hope he will be. I did what I could for him.”

She frowned, not understanding what he meant. Not wanting to push too hard, she said, “It’s a good thing he has you, then.”

He tugged his beanie off his head and looked up at the ceiling of the bus for a moment. With another heavy sigh, he surprised her by leaning his head against her shoulder. Betty reached over and ran her hand through his hair, then let her fingers soothingly brush across his scalp.

“He’s in jail,” Jughead said quietly. His voice dropped so low that she hardly heard him when he added, “I didn’t want to tell you because I was worried that it would scare you off.”

She smiled wryly, trying to cheer him up. “I’m not afraid of anything when it comes to you.”

In response, he wrapped his arms around her waist. A comfortable silence stretched between them. Betty kept running his curls between her fingers, letting her hand graze the edge of his ear a few times too. Jughead nuzzled against her shoulder in response.

“I have to tell you what happened, Betty. There’s a chance that this will come back on me, if the wrong people find out what’s going on.”

She straightened, looking over at him in surprise. “What do you mean?”

Jughead looked up and met her eyes. “Jail, Betts. Earlier this year, I was pretty sure that I was going to end up there. And then my dad—” he stopped, glancing away.

Betty felt her heart beating faster, but she didn’t press. She’d said that nothing could scare her away from him, and even though it had been brought up lightheartedly, she meant it. Still, with that admission, she was wondering what exactly he’d done in the past that she still didn’t know about. In her mind, she pictured Jughead’s face as he leaned over Trent in Veronica’s apartment. She’d known ever since then that there was a side to him that he kept caged away, buried deep where no one would see.

“My Dad lied,” he said, the words hardly more than a whisper. “He took my place, Betts.”

She didn’t know how to respond to that. Words paled in comparison to the tortured look that crossed his face as he said it. Reaching out, she drew him back against her and rested her cheek on the top of his head. Betty couldn’t begin to fathom a universe where Jughead had ended up in jail, where they’d never met, where the likelihood would be that they never _would_. She pushed the thoughts from her mind, unwilling to consider them and let herself get anxious over nothing.

They held each other in silence until the door of the bus slid open and Veronica let herself in. She smiled lightly as they straightened. “Don’t let me interrupt, lovebirds,” she winked, crossing the bus to her bed. 

Betty glanced at Jughead. Veronica might not have meant to interrupt them, but their conversation couldn’t really carry on where she could easily overhear. The look they shared conveyed their mutual agreement to resume the conversation as soon as possible.

As the bus trundled onward to their next destination, Jughead slipped his arms around Betty and buried his face in her hair. She might have imagined it as she was drifting off to sleep, but she could have sworn that he whispered, “Thank you, I love you,” against her ear.

———————-

He sank into the black pleather armchair, taking a sip of his coffee. Holding the new paperback open with one hand, Jughead glanced up from the page as Betty took the other chair.

Even with a baseball cap pulled down over her eyes, and her hair loose around her shoulders, even wearing Archie’s baggiest old t-shirt and a pair of cargo shorts she’d had to cinch around her waist with a belt, she looked fucking perfect. She’d put together the disguise in a hurry. After everything that happened the day before, both agreed that they needed a tiny break from work. Jughead suggested finding some new reading material. Betty’s eyes lit up at the idea, since she’d finished her most recent romance novel the previous week.

One short Uber ride to Barnes and Noble, and they agreed to split up in the relatively vacant shelves when no one was giving her a second glance. Luckily, the pulp fiction and romance sections weren’t far apart either. He’d made his selections and walked to the little coffee corner, paying for his books as he ordered a latte and breakfast sandwich. 

Betty drew her feet onto the chair and tucked her knees up, opening her book. Jughead’s eyebrows rose.

“What?” she asked, her eyes widening in concern.

He carefully dog-eared the corner of his page, closing the novel on his lap. “Betty,” he paused heavily, looking down at the book in her hands. “That’s porn.”

She immediately turned the deepest shade of red he’d ever seen on a human being. The book flipped over in her hands, quickly concealing the cover from his prying eyes. With an exaggerated glare, she hissed, “What I like to read is no concern of yours, _Jughead_.”

He laughed at that, unable to help himself. She looked so fierce and upset, with _Grey_ turned over on her lap like no one would immediately see the iconic cover and recognize it for what it was. Propping one elbow on the arm of his chair, he struggled to regain his composure and say with a straight face, “When it’s porn, it is, _Betty_.”

She slapped his arm with a little indignant yelp. Jughead dissolved into laughter again, plucking the book off her lap and flipping to a random page. He let himself react in mock horror, looking up at her. “What?” she demanded. Then, realizing he was still teasing her, she grabbed for the book. “Don’t be a jerk.”

He leaned back and sipped his coffee, eyes still smiling. Casually, he said, “Is that the sort of thing you’re looking for in a relationship, Betts? Should we uber over to Macy’s so that I can pick up a tie?”

Though he’d thought it wasn’t possible for her to get any redder, somehow the sign of her mortification crept onto the tips of her ears and began working down her neck. Jughead couldn’t stop grinning at her as she floundered. He wiggled his eyebrows suggestively, earning another slap.

Looking away and still blushing fiercely, Betty’s mouth moved so minutely that he would have missed it if he hadn’t been already looking at her. With his Cheshire grin still in place, he said, “What?”

She looked up at the ceiling for a moment then, her hands clenching the hem of her borrowed t-shirt. “Maybe,” she whispered.

Jughead felt that word shoot through his entire body. He and Betty had been limited to quick encounters since their evening together at Archie’s apartment, as their travelling necessitated. Suddenly, he couldn’t wait for the tour to end--forget about his paycheck ending, too. A downright filthy image of Betty with her wrists roped to a headboard flitted across his mind. He took another long drink of coffee while he willed his body to calm down. Jughead looked carefully at an advertisement for strawberry vanilla scones in front of the counter, forcing himself to register how some well-meaning employee had drawn little strawberry blossoms around the blackboard.

Glancing over at Betty, he saw that her cheeks were still highly colored and she was breathing a little more heavily than usual. As their eyes met, all thoughts of food abruptly evacuated his mind.

“How many more cities do we have?” he asked, surprised by how husky his own voice sounded.

Betty’s lips quirked. “Too many.”

He let his head fall back against the chair in exaggerated defeat. “I hope you know I’m not leaving your side, even when I’m not being paid to hang around,” he said, glancing over at her.

Her face broke into an adorable smile. “I was hoping you’d feel like that,” she said. “I wanted to rent an apartment, rather than going back to my parents’ house. I thought maybe we could split the rent.”

Reaching over and sliding his hand over her leg, he met her eyes again and couldn’t help returning her smile. “I think that’s a great idea,” he agreed. “But I’m sure people will notice that your bodyguard is living with you.”

She raised one shoulder dismissively. “Sure, after I admit that we’re dating, I expect them to. Harold only said that we had to keep this quiet until after the tour. I’m tired of hiding this-- _us_ \--from the world.”

Jughead was about to respond and say that he wholeheartedly agreed, but his phone began to buzz. Glancing down, his excitement evaporated as he saw the caller ID: _Penny Peabody_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lots of things happened in this chapter, right? My heart endlessly goes out to Jughead. I'll try to get another update out by Saturday! This is the last week of my literature class, and the topic is American Gothic...we've been discussing Beloved, and curse my semi-obsessed brain, I can't help thinking about which short stories we're reading Betty and Jughead would like the best. Yes, yes, in Low Lights Betty reads romance novels, I know. Girl is under a lot of stress, though. Low lexile level spells relaxation~~
> 
> Next chapter: Betty's phone, details of the past, and a romantic evening. :)


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